


murder, ma chère

by meetthefatess



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Noir, F/F, Film Noir, Romance, Slow Burn, Smoking, Violence, at least that's the plan, background sonyamary, chapters will be from marya's pov, for example; andrei plays the role of pierre's friend more so than natasha's fiancé, i dont know what im doing, i mean its the 1940s so like everyone smokes, it was an accident but it worked with the plot, some canon character relationships are not included, the film noir maryalene ive been posting about
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:30:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25170139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meetthefatess/pseuds/meetthefatess
Summary: There was no denying Hélène Bezukhova was a beautiful woman. Even in past years, it was the only descriptor used in each newspaper that crossed Marya’s desk.Pierre Bezukhov marries beautiful young bride, and later,beautiful socialite gains claim to Bezukhov fortune.Of course, Marya had heard the less complimentary comments about her as well, but those were never made quite so public. And while the photos in the paper never did seem to do her justice, their brief meeting at Pierre’s wedding made her certain that yes, that was Hélène Bezukhova sitting just outside her office, legs crossed and gloved hands folded neatly in her lap.(Marlène film noir crime drama)
Relationships: Marya Dmitryevna Akhrosimova/Elena "Hélène" Vasilyevna Kuragina
Comments: 77
Kudos: 87





	1. who killed pierre?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This is my first fic on here so please be patient with me as I figure out what I am doing lol. The title comes from the 1944 noir “Murder, My Sweet” which is definitely worth a watch if you can find it! It isn’t the basis of this plot but if you watch any classic noir I'm sure you'll understand what I am going for.
> 
> The chapter titles will mostly be Glenn Miller songs or like old noir titles bc let’s make this fic jazzy. Chapters will be longer than this first one based on what I have outlined, this one just ended up being pretty short.
> 
> I do want to say a quick thank you to @irreplaceable_ecstasy, my wonderful beta reader, because your girl’s confidence is v low in this fic & she has been the most helpful. 
> 
> This probably won’t update super fast because I’m not sure how much free time I’ll have, but I have it all roughly outlined! I do make art for this au as well so you can check that out either on tumblr or instagram (both @/meetthefatess) if you are interested.

Marya remembered clearly the morning Pierre Bezukhov was found dead.  


It was wet. The week had been a dreary one, grey mornings bleeding into stormy nights that rattled the windows of her apartment, leaving her sleepless and suitably gloomy when she awoke. The streets had stood in silence before the news broke, but by the end of the day everyone was chattering in macabre curiosity. _Pierre? Pierre Bezukhov? From that massive house on the edge of the city? Old money right? I heard the house itself is worth far more than one could make in a lifetime. You knew him right, Marya?_

Pierre had little family left, it was just he and his wife living in that house, so any remote connection to him had sent reporters and curious neighbors swarming like flies. Three days later Marya had managed to shut herself in the small office she had been renting for the past few years. It was a less than ideal setup, two small rooms with wallpaper that peeled at the corners three blocks from her apartment and located underneath another set of apartments, the tenants of which seemed to pace constantly above her head so any moment of silence was disturbed by the god awful clunking of shoes on hardwood floors. Not to mention the racket they made coming down the stairs. Given the current situations, however, the farther she was from her address the better. 

“Marya!” 

The bright voice made Marya jump sharply in her seat, pen skittering from her fingers as her head snapped up to the doorway. 

Natasha. 

“Dear god, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Please. Knock.” She pressed her fingers to her forehead in mock exasperation before peering up at her goddaughter once more. 

Natasha ignored the quip and shut the door quickly behind her, eyes shining brightly and a mischievous smile on her lips, “If you finally hired a secretary I wouldn’t need to. Now, tell me you’ve read the paper.” 

Marya sighed, “Natasha, why would I bother to read the paper when you recite its contents by rote each time I see you?” 

“Marya this time it’s important, I promise. Look!” She leaned over the desk and pushed a copy of the paper into Marya’s hands, “read the headline then skip to page two, it has all the details.” 

Marya glanced up at her goddaughter’s beaming smile, noticing for the first time that her chest was heaving beneath her light coat and her dark hair glistening with raindrops. 

“Did you run here-” 

“For heaven’s sake, just read it!” 

Marya let her gaze shift down to the still damp newspaper in her hands. The headline read in big, bold letters: Who killed Pierre? She raised an eyebrow at Natasha who waved her quickly to the second page, manicured nail tapping a passage halfway down. 

_An investigation is currently being conducted on the nature of Pierre Bezukhov’s death. Any persons with additional information regarding Bezukhov’s whereabouts on the fifth of April after nine p.m. or feel they can offer relevant information and services are asked to come forward and will be compensated accordingly for their efforts._

“They think he was killed?” Marya’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked up at Natasha who was already nodding. 

“Apparently they did an autopsy down at the morgue, they think he was poisoned!” 

Marya scoffed, closing the paper, “Natasha you can’t keep letting idle gossip go to your head like this, nothing quite so outlandish ever happens here.” 

“No, look!” Natasha frowned, moving to stand beside Marya and opening the paper on the desk, “They thought he must have died in his sleep, but now they think he had been dead for some time. It’s possible he died the night before!” 

Natasha paused and lowered her voice to a whisper, “It was just him and his wife in the house that night, yet she didn’t report him dead until the next morning.” Marya felt her lips pull into a frown once more, “that certainly is… interesting, but I am more worried about how invested you seem in the death of that poor man. Aren’t you supposed to be at work right now?” 

Natasha waved her hand dismissively, returning her gaze to the paper, “I pretended to be sick so I could leave early, Sonya will cover for me if someone calls. And it’s like you said, nothing quite so outlandish ever happens around here and this…” she sighed, looking up, “Don’t you see? You went to school with Pierre! You’re a private detective! If you offer your insight you could make a lot of money!” 

Marya felt her eyebrows raise of their own accord. So that was what this was about. 

“Natasha, you said it yourself. I am a _private_ detective. I work for clients, I am not an informant for the police department.” she closed the paper, lips pursing tightly, “ I know this visit to the city hasn’t been nearly so exciting as you hoped, but your parents asked me to keep an eye on you, not to help you get into trouble for no good reason.” 

Natasha groaned, “but you hardly ever take interesting clients! Come on Masha, this is a chance to do something big!” 

“An investigation is already being conducted, there’s little need for me to get involved,” she folded the newspaper in half and handed it back to the young woman, expression softening, “I’ll let you know if something big comes up, but for now just enjoy the quiet. And stop leaving work!” She added sharply. 

Natasha huffed, tucking the paper under her arm, “I’m filling in as a receptionist for three months, I’m not exactly essential.” 

Marya let a rare smile slip onto her lips as she regarded the girl. Natasha and Sonya had only come to the city for the months their family needed to sort out their affairs. Ilya Rostov, as fond as Marya was of the man, had no head for business and had sent his daughter to visit Marya as soon as Natasha finished her schooling, under the guise of a trip to introduce the girl and her cousin to the cityscape they had been lacking at the estate. Marya knew, however, that the Rostovs dearly hoped either of the girls would be able to marry, settle into their own lives, and help relieve the family’s growing financial stress. 

“You know I’d let you work here if I thought it necessary, but it's been a slow few weeks and I’m afraid I wouldn’t have much use for you.” She raised an eyebrow and tapped the newspaper with her pen, “but that doesn’t mean I want you scoping through every paper for cases I could work, it’s a bit insulting really.” 

Natasha rolled her eyes, “Well you’re going to the funeral too, aren’t you? It’s not just about the case, I figured you’d want to know about all this before Friday.” 

Marya turned back to her desk before responding, “Yes. I- I suppose I will be going to the funeral.” She fiddled with the pen in her grasp, for the first time uncertain how she should be feeling. It was true, she and Pierre had been friends in school, but despite living in the same city it wasn’t as if they had been particularly close in the end. Hell, she’d only briefly attended his wedding and in the time he’d been married, rarely seen him except in passing. 

“Marya?” Natasha’s voice had softened considerably. 

Marya blinked, turning to look at Natasha and smiling tightly, “I’m alright, I do appreciate the bit of information I can glean from all your gossip though.” 

Natasha smiled and pressed a kiss to Marya’s cheek as she buttoned her coat, “I’ll see you before dinner then? I hope you don’t plan on hiding out here all night.” 

“ _I’m_ working,” Marya replied pointedly, “but yes, I’ll see you tonight.” 

Natasha beamed, turning to go through the door. Upon opening it though, she let out a squeak of alarm and slammed it shut immediately. 

“Natasha? What on Earth is the matter I-” 

“It’s her.” Natasha whispered, turning back to Marya with wide eyes. 

“Who?” 

“ _Her_.” Natasha replied, equally hushed, and pulled the paper from beneath her arm again. She spread it on the desk, glancing furtively back at the closed door. 

“Hélène Bezukhova. Pierre’s widow.” She pointed a shaking hand to a photo on the second page of a curly haired woman dressed in dark clothing and glancing disdainfully at the camera through thick lashes. _Pierre Bezukhov dead, found by beautiful widow_. 

Marya’s brow furrowed, “You’re sure?” 

Natasha nodded rapidly. 

“Well invite her in,” Marya stuttered, alarmed, “We can’t just leave her in the waiting room.” 

“Marya,” Natasha hissed, eyes still wide, “They think she kille-” 

“Do you intend to work here or not? We’re being rude,” Marya whispered back sharply, retucking in her crisp white shirt and brushing flyaways from her face. 

Natasha swallowed and turned back to the door. She looked back at Marya before opening it. 

“Sorry for the wait ma’am, Ms. Dmitryevna will see you now.” 

Natasha opened the door entirely, and Marya looked up from her desk curiously. 

There was no denying Hélène Bezukhova was a beautiful woman. Even in past years, it was the only descriptor used in each newspaper that crossed Marya’s desk. _Pierre Bezukhov marries beautiful young bride_ , and later, _beautiful socialite gains claim to Bezukhov fortune_. Of course, Marya had heard the less than complimentary comments about her as well, but those were never made quite so public. And while the photos in the paper never did seem to do her justice, their brief meeting at Pierre’s wedding made her certain that yes, that was Hélène Bezukhova sitting just outside her office, legs crossed and gloved hands folded neatly in her lap. 

She stood as Natasha spoke, dark eyes sweeping over the girl before turning to Marya as she walked through the doorway. The woman was dressed similarly to her photos, dark coat with a delicate black veil grazing the upper half of her face and sweeping over her immaculately pinned curls. Her lips parted as she took in Marya’s appearance, then tugged up into a tight smile as she saw the newsprint on the desk. 

“I take it you know who I am?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been written for a minute but whenever I thought about posting it I wanted to throw myself into traffic.


	2. a string of pearls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oop. an update. Some Hélène in this one, plus a little Natasha & Sonya. You guys have been very sweet so far so hopefully you enjoy!

Hélène did not look like a woman who was grieving. 

She sat herself languidly in the cracked leather chair across from Marya as Natasha was waved from the room, and lit a cigarette, looking up at Marya with uncanny fluidity to her movements. She seemed out of place among the faded brown furniture with her spotless dress and black leather gloves, but she didn't show any signs of uncertainty. 

Her eyes were dry, not red-rimmed or remotely puffy, and she kept a faint smile on her face as Marya took her in, like the ghost of a laugh she was trying to suppress. 

“Ms. Bezukhova-” Marya began. 

“Hélène. Please.” She interrupted with a flutter of her eyelashes, “and I think we both know why I’m here.” 

Marya paused, finding it almost a struggle to speak. She felt unease bubble up in her throat in spite of herself. Natasha’s warnings, the paper’s speculations, the story everyone in the city must have heard by now. 

“Hélène. I’m afraid you’re going to have to help me out with that one. Is this-” 

_Is this about how the whole of the city thinks you poisoned your husband?_

“about Pierre?” 

Hélène’s smile flickered, and she sighed, “So very diplomatic, I thought you might have just come out with it, “ she drawled. 

“And the nature of his death?” Marya finished, gritting her teeth to hold back any signs of irritation at the interruption. The casual way Hélène spoke, sat even, did nothing to quell that turmoil in the back of her mind, and she fought to keep any bit of anger at bay. 

“You know it’s a bit endearing how you dance around the subject. Very polite. I see why Pierre was so fond of you. You certainly would fit into his circles well, “ Hélène interjected once more, removing her gloves and folding them in her lap as she held the cigarette between her lips. 

“Ms. Bezukhova, I think it would benefit us both if you took this conversation a little more seriously.” Marya managed, brow furrowing against her will as she waved a hand through the plume of smoke blown in her direction. The mention of Pierre only spurred her aggravation. 

Hélène paused, smile and infuriating sense of amusement fading slightly. 

“Alright.” She spoke with measured words. Her smile returned, tight at the corners and carrying no hint of warmth, as she leaned forward in her seat “the police believe I’ve murdered my husband, and from what I’ve heard about who’s in charge of the case, there’s little chance of those allegations sorting themselves out.” 

Marya swallowed, considering the words momentarily, “and?” 

Hélène scowled, face twisting abruptly, “Well I didn’t and I’d quite prefer not to be the prime suspect and the newspaper’s plaything.” 

Marya felt herself frown in return, tapping the pen in her fingers lightly against the papers before her, “Surely the current investigation should be able to clear your name on its own, right? As for the newspaper, you of all people must know that the paper will turn anything into a headline...” She trailed off at Hélène’s change in expression. 

Hélène’s eyes were narrowed and she plastered that same tight smile on her face as she responded cooly, “ Ma chère, you do understand there's a bit of a difference between idle gossip and being suspected of murder, yes? And like I’ve said, my relationship with the head of this investigation is...tricky and I’d prefer to have a bit of assurance against bias.” 

“So you intend to hire me to mirror the department’s investigation?” 

“Well yes, in a sense. You could conduct it any way you like, I just want you to prove it couldn’t have been me before those sods feel like they’ve done enough digging to convict me,” Hélène flashed her bright teeth, resuming the demeanor she had begun with. Her eyes remained narrowed, however, as if she was teetering between two impulses. It was staggering the way her moods flittered back and forth. 

Marya paused, mulling through her options in the brief time she had. She was almost taken aback by the rapidness in which Hélène had stated her intentions. It seemed rehearsed, almost rushed. The timbre of her voice, the deliberate way she spoke. Had she really had to speak on the occasion so often in the past few days that she could treat it so casually? Had she ever regarded the situation with the gravity it deserved? In spite of her immediate disbelief at Hélène’s audacity, she had to admit there were some appeals. 

Taking the case would give her access to more information. Sure, she had endured Natasha’s quick debriefing but the thought of hearing a direct recounting both excited some part of her and made her a bit sick to her stomach. She would have free reign to request and dig through any information she liked. Of course, it couldn’t be ignored that she would be working in direct opposition to the police department’s biggest lead. And hell, who was she to assume Hélène hadn’t done it? If what the paper was saying had any truth, the evidence that would soon come could be staggering. Seeking out a detective did seem foolish to do if one was guilty, but even through her brief interaction with the woman, Marya already found Hélène almost impossible to predict. 

“Ms. Bezukhova” 

“ _Hélène_ ” 

“Hélène. You do understand exactly how public this issue has become?” Marya gestured loosely to the newspaper, “and exactly how taking this case would impact my business. It’s unlikely I’ll get any other clients in the time I’m associated with this situation and-” 

“And if you’re wrong it's unlikely you’ll ever get a client again, “ Hélène finished for her. “Believe me _Ms. Dmitryevna_ I’ve heard this exact warning three times today.” Hélène breathed, locking eyes with Marya. 

“I see I wasn’t your first choice?” Marya mused, meeting the intense scrutiny as best she could. 

“Do you really think my late husband’s childhood friend would be my first choice for this case?” Hélène practically giggled, “Believe me, darling, I’ve put this off as long as I could.” 

“I’m flattered.” Marya deadpanned, having to grit her teeth once more, “and no one else was receptive?” It was hard to keep the edge out of her voice, especially when each remark Hélène made spurred her irritation even further. The woman’s responses kept toeing the line between bitterness and genuine disinterest and Marya wasn’t sure which bothered her more. 

“Of course they weren’t! Have you me-” She paused, eyes roaming and seeming to take in the tightness of Marya’s jaw. “Oh, I’ve offended you haven't I?” She spoke, smile fading slowly as the silence in the room built. 

“Listen...Hélène,” Marya managed, sitting up slightly in her seat. She felt a brief flash of pity for the woman but the risks she’d face at taking the case on a whim already curdled her stomach, “I don’t think I can help you.” 

Hélène’s face blanched, “How much?” 

Marya sighed, pressing her fingertips to her forehead for the second time that day, “I’m afraid that won’t help.” 

“I swear I can make it worth your time,” Hélène took a drag from the cigarette almost frantically, waving her free hand before her as she spoke, “I can double, triple even, what you’d normally charge. I can give you contacts, for when this is over, to ensure that you still have business I- I can give you whatever information you need, I just…” Hélène’s voice faded out as she made eye contact with Marya again. Marya kept her face expressionless as she watched Hélène’s eyes drop while she let out an embarrassed laugh, nodding to herself, “I suppose there’s really no way of convincing you then.” 

Marya swallowed, gripping the pen in her hand with white knuckles. The desperation of the outburst tugged at some protective side of her that she managed to keep dormant. “I-” Marya began, clearing her throat before realizing she really had no idea what to say. 

Hélène nodded once, leaving the cigarette between her lips as she gathered her gloves and purse and stood, turning away from the desk. 

“Wait.” 

Hélène paused in the doorway, pulling the cigarette from her mouth as she turned around. 

“I-” Marya started, surprised at her own words. “Give me a few days to consider it?” 

Marya watched as Hélène swallowed, noticing a slight tremble in her lip as she tilted her chin up in an attempt to mimic her previous pride, “really?” 

At Marya’s nod, she approached the desk, reaching over to put out her cigarette in the ashtray at Marya’s elbow and lightly pulling the pen straight from her fingers before she could protest. Hélène leaned over the newspaper, writing for a moment, before ripping a corner off and passing it to Marya. 

“Ring that number when you’ve made a decision, I’ll send my driver to get you and we can meet again.” Hélène opened her mouth as if to say something else, but closed it after a moment, lips forming a brief smile before she turned, pulling her gloves on swiftly, and exited the office, closing the door behind her. 

Marya considered the number in her hand for a moment, the digits scrawled in thin, loopy cursive, before tucking it in her coat pocket. She fell back into her chair, letting out a breath and bringing her hand to her face, already anxious that she had done the wrong thing in humoring the other woman. 

Given Natasha hadn’t immediately burst in as soon as Hélène left, Marya assumed that the girl had slipped out. Oh, the questions she’d have to answer at dinner. 

Marya groaned, sitting back up in her seat, glancing at the surface of her desk for a moment. It wasn’t likely she’d be able to focus on anything for the rest of the day, so with another sigh, she replaced the pen Hélène had used in its cup, and stood, pulling her long coat onto her shoulders. After a moment of staring at the newspaper on her desk, Marya picked it up and hovered over the wastebasket. The action felt rash, and although she decided she’d have to draw her own conclusions, some anxious nature in her mind held her back and instead she opened a drawer in her desk and slid it inside. She’d deal with that when she knew for certain what she’d be doing. In this moment, though, Marya was anything but certain, a feeling she was unused to and did not like one bit. 

\- 

The walk home was cool, the rain had faded to a light mist that wet Marya’s cheeks as soon as she stepped out in it. It was a relief against her warm skin, hands clasped tightly in front of her as she ran through the events of the evening, desperately categorizing the things she would be willing to tell her over-eager goddaughters when they inevitably swarmed her upon arrival. 

For the same reason, Marya opened the door to the apartment building as quietly as she could, slipping up the stairs to the flat with as soft footfalls as she could muster, and pulling off her shoes as soon as she entered the door. Of course, her caution was of little use because as soon as the front door was shut and locked behind her she heard footsteps coming to the door. 

“Marya! You’re… back earlier than Natasha said. I meant to start dinner on time.” Sonya smiled, her shirt was untucked from her skirt and auburn hair falling from her updo. It was evident she had just gotten home as well. 

“Oh don’t worry about that.” Marya waved her hand dismissively as she hung her coat up and turned to face the girl once more. 

Marya watched as Sonya fidgeted anxiously, “Natasha said-” 

“Marya?” Natasha’s voice rang out from the other room and Marya winced. 

“We’ll talk about this over dinner, no sooner,” Marya reprimanded sharply as Natasha rounded the corner, meeting the eyes of each girl swiftly before either could ask. 

The air was uncomfortable as dinner was prepared. Sonya, who insisted on helping Marya, shot her glances every few moments as Natasha pouted and paced outside of the kitchenette. Marya managed to fend off questions with half-hearted attempts at small talk about workdays until the table was set. Even then, Marya took her time making her way to her seat and taking her place at the rectangular table. 

When she finally looked up from her plate, Sonya and Natasha were both watching her expectantly, having not touched their plates. With an exasperated sigh, Marya waved her hand for them to speak. 

“What did she want! Did she tell you anything!” Natasha blurted out. 

“She didn’t try to involve you in anything did she?” Sonya followed quickly, looking concerned. 

“She simply wished to hire me to look into her case.” Marya spoke carefully, pausing to take a bite, and gesturing for the girls to begin eating as well. 

They obeyed and Marya folded her hands in front of her as she waited for the onslaught. 

“You said no, right?” Sonya asked, the same concerned look gathering in her features. 

Marya frowned, “I expected this badgering from Natasha but I didn’t know you were invested in this.” 

“Yeah Sofie,” Natasha smirked after she’d finished chewing, “tell Marya exactly why you know so much about the case.” 

Sonya flushed, shooting a glare at Natasha, “I work with the sister of the head of the investigation, that’s all. We talked about it on lunch. She’s worried about her brother because apparently he is dead certain Hélène Bezukhova did it and isn’t being quiet about it either.” 

“Who’s the head detective?” Marya frowned, racking her brain. It was the second time he had been mentioned that day. 

“Andrei Bolkonsky,” Sonya supplied, “He was Pierre’s closest friend, best man at his wedding. Mary said he’s not taking it so well.” 

“Well they should assign a different detective then,” Marya said pointedly, frowning at her plate, “he’s bound to make decisions based on his emotions.” 

“That’s what Mary said, but Andrei was set on it and their father, sick as he is, has a lot of sway with the department.” Sonya continued. 

“Plus they’re rich,” Natasha added helpfully, “you did say no, right Marya? From what Sonya said earlier she sounds dangerous.” 

Marya raised her eyebrows, “I haven’t yet decided. And what did you say earlier?” She turned her gaze to Sonya who smiled apologetically. 

“It’s just what I heard, I didn’t want to make a big deal about it. Andrei was telling Mary offhandedly that Hélène was looking for a private detective. Mary said he warned her about the Kuragins. That entire family lives for money and luxury. They can lie straight to your face without batting an eye and were elated to get their hands on Pierre’s inheritance.” Sonya shrugged, “I’m not sure how much is true but Mary was a bit spooked.” 

“Oh, you should meet Mary, Marya!” Natasha interrupted, “she’s spooked by a lot of things but she’s very sweet.” 

Marya watched as Sonya smiled down at her plate, “Perhaps we could invite her over some time,” she offered absently, still focused on their primary topic. 

“Well anyways,” Sonya managed, still flushed slightly, “Andrei thinks Hélène is looking for a detective so she can get more control over the situation. She’s been scrambling since the investigation started and that headline made the papers.” 

“And I know I said that stuff about you not taking interesting cases, but I’d be worried about you if you took this one,” Natasha sighed, wide brown eyes flicking down to her plate. 

“Natasha, I can look after myself,” Marya said pointedly, “I will keep you two updated on the matter, but I feel like that’s enough heavy talk for the night.” It wouldn’t do to involve them further in her decision. It was Marya’s to make and frankly, she was unsure if outside opinions would help or harm her thought process. 

Neither girl argued but Marya caught Natasha shoot Sonya a look from the corner of her eye. None of them mentioned it and the conversation returned to safer topics but Marya couldn’t help being slightly distracted, she had much to think about. 

When dishes had been cleared and she returned to her bed, Marya remained awake, eyes open and turned to the ceiling. Had Hélène truly been lying the whole time? Had she faked her own emotional break to get through to Marya? Had she tried it with every private detective in the city and Marya was the only one foolish enough to fall for it? 

She raked her hands through her freshly unpinned hair in frustration. It was hard to decide how she felt. Every time she thought about those dark eyes boring through her from across the desk, the tremble of Hélène’s mouth as she stood, the slip of paper burning a hole in her jacket pocket, it became hard to think at all. Was she scared of the woman? _Should_ she be scared of the woman? Marya sighed to herself and worked to flush all thoughts of Hélène from her mind. 

Marya Dmitryevna wasn’t afraid of anyone, and this was no different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like my pacing but ://


	3. shadow of a doubt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter than intended but the ending fit what I had in mind. I don't think I've mentioned this yet, but this is set loosely in early April, 1948!

Marya breathed slowly through her nose, eyes remaining closed for much of the funeral service. It wasn’t overly decadent, although the money was certainly there, but it was nice. Simple and elegant. 

Marya couldn’t decide if she thought it was what Pierre would have wanted. She couldn’t decide if she knew anything Pierre would have wanted any more. It didn’t feel like her place to. 

She had been seated near the front, two rows back from the casket. Natasha and Sonya had offered to accompany her but Marya had insisted on going alone. Maybe it was pride. Maybe she was anticipating the tension sure to occur based on those attending. 

It had been four days since that first headline, but the subsequent articles being published almost daily had essentially turned the funeral into a public event. She had been ushered to a seat before the crowd arrived, thankfully, but could feel the multitude of eyes focused on the casket even with her own closed. She couldn’t help but wonder if they had ever even known him, or if others had the same thought about her. Did she have any right to share in this ceremony? To feel her emotions? Even worse, she was nearly certain that someone in attendance would have no qualms telling her exactly what she was doing wrong in being there. 

As Marya opened her eyes, the current speaker’s voice droning on in the background, her attention fell to the source of her present unease. 

Andrei Bolkonsky. 

He sat in the front row beside who Marya assumed to be his sister, shoulders squared and tense. Although the service had not yet ended, his eyes often left the front and went to his left. Marya followed his gaze when she noticed it and saw Hélène, sitting entirely alone on the far end of the row. Even though many of the funeral’s surprise occupants were left standing for lack of space, there were at least three empty seats between Hélène and every other person near her. Marya could feel the heat of Andrei’s glare each time he turned and could tell those around him had noticed too. Many on that side of the aisle had begun to shift uncomfortably but Hélène remained stock still, eyes facing front. 

Marya felt her stomach twist and forced her eyes back to the speaker. She had expected something of this nature, but for now hoped the inevitable confrontation wouldn’t go too badly. And that she would be well out of the way when it did. 

Peace lasted for the rest of the indoor service, a short but sentimental ceremony recounting the life Pierre had led, but when all the uninvited attendees were cleared out for the burial, Marya was certain something would happen. The Bezukhovs had a massive family plot, the thinned crowd staying impassively clustered in the center of its grassy expanse as the casket was lowered. The air remained thick with unease, as heavy as the humid wind they were left exposed to, promising more rain within the hour. 

A bubble still surrounded Hélène, no one seeming willing to get within ten feet of where she stood in the dewy grass, eyes closed and chin tilted up, holding her closed umbrella in front of her. Marya tried to swallow, mouth suddenly painfully dry as she watched Andrei stare her down. When Hélène stepped forward to throw a handful of dirt on the lowered casket, Marya watched Andrei’s sister, a slim, wisp of a thing, grab his arm to prevent him from advancing on her. 

At this point, it seemed all in attendance had realized what was happening, turning their eyes to the ground and shuffling in place. Marya dug her nails into her palms, fighting to ignore the whispers beginning and focus her eyes on the ceremony. She could make out Mary’s pleading “not here.” as she kept hold of Andrei’s arm but a few feet away. 

Andrei hissed something back at her, pulling his arm away roughly and stepping out a pace, eyes narrowed. Marya cursed quietly to herself. She didn’t want to see this. No one should have to see this. Not now. It was a stupid, callous decision on Andrei’s part to make his anger a spectacle, and Marya couldn’t help worrying about what that would mean as his investigation progressed. When she moved up to cast her dirt upon the casket, Marya made her decision. 

Regarding the glossy casket with a fond sort of smile as she stomached her emotions, Marya brushed her hands off lightly on her skirt and turned away, moving to stand beside Hélène rather than return to her previous placement. She kept her gaze cast down but could feel eyes follow her all the way. 

“Ms. Bezukhova.” She said softly, nodding in Hélène’s direction. 

From the corner of her eye she saw the woman’s eyes open, flicking over to look at her for a moment in surprise. 

There was silence for a few seconds before Hélène spoke just as quietly, “Careful darling, you might give them the wrong idea.” 

“Like?” 

“Well in the current climate being associated with me is crime enough, right?” Hélène’s mouth quirked up in a brief imitation of a smile before her eyes turned away. 

Marya risked a glance upward and saw that Andrei had returned to his place beside his sister, but continued to watch them, eyes sliding between her and Hélène with his brow furrowed. 

“It would seem so,” she murmured. 

“He doesn’t want me here,” Hélène stated matter-of-factly after a moment, “but you see, I’d get the same looks had I not come.” 

Marya did not respond, looking up again as the last patron threw their dirt in and the grave began being filled in full. At this time, the remaining crowd began to filter away, leaving only six or so people, including the undertaker. As she watched the dirt pile grow, Marya put her hands in her coat pockets, fingers tracing the slip of paper she found herself carrying with her. The edges were already worn, as she had taken to fiddling with it any time she took a moment to consider Hélène’s offer. At this point, she was unsure if she’d even be able to read the numbers. 

She glanced up just in time to see Andrei shoot a final glare Hélène’s way before being tugged away by his distressed sister, leaving Marya and Hélène the only two beside the plot as the undertaker continued to shovel soil into it. 

“I’ll take your case.” Marya said, before she could talk herself out of it. 

Hélène stiffened, head turning to look at Marya as shock transformed her features, “What?” 

“Well, think of me as a neutral party,” Marya amended, “I agree it is unlikely Bolkonsky will conduct this professionally so I’d like to... help.” She finally turned to meet Hélène’s wide eyes. Her lips were still parted in shock. 

“I will need a full recounting of _everything_ you remember from that night. And I need you to be honest with me. If I find a surplus of incriminating evidence I’ll be obligated to turn it over to the police, “ Marya warned, twisting her hands in front of her to quell her anxiety at her own decision. 

Hélène nodded quickly, seeming to regain control of her facial features, “Of course.” 

“When is the soonest you’d be able to meet?” Marya continued, stilling her hands by sheer force of will. 

“Tomorrow? I can send my driver to your office in the morning and he can take you to the house,” Hélène offered quickly, eyes meeting Marya’s, much closer than they had been across the desk. 

Marya nodded swiftly extending a hand for Hélène to shake. Hélène ignored it, reaching up to rest a hand delicately on Marya’s arm instead. 

“Thank you.” She flashed a smile, squeezing Marya’s arm before removing her hand and brushing past Marya through the grass and down to her sleek black car. 

Marya stood for a moment with her hand extended to no one before frowning and turning back to the gravesite. 

She tried for an instant to summon Pierre in her mind. At least, how she best remembered him. A quiet, studious kid who once confessed he used to be terrified by her very presence. It had made her laugh then. She had always been quite loud and outspoken, even as a girl, something she was concerned that she had been losing in recent years. Maybe that’s why she felt compelled to help Hélène, because she was worried she was becoming something she had never wanted to be. If she waited and watched as the whole city turned against the woman, what did that make her? 

Or perhaps that wasn’t it at all and her pride would be the ruin the business she cared so much about. After all, it was pride that fueled many of her most rash decisions. Her competitive nature was something Marya had long recognized in herself. Even in school, she had strived to be top of her class to gain the approval and respect of her peers and superiors. The heavy-handedness in which Andrei had begun this investigation put some part of her on edge in the very same way. She could do it better. She _would_ do it better. She had to. 

But what would Pierre think? 

For the first time since his death, Marya let herself imagine she knew him well enough to predict his response. Not some nostalgic, vignetted memory of him, but Pierre. Pierre on his wedding day, beaming happily as he embraced Marya. Dancing with a slightly younger Hélène whose features were still hazy in her mind. Pierre who she caught sight of on the street occasionally, looking troubled, alone. He hadn’t called to her and neither she to him. Would he have cared if Hélène was ostracized? It didn’t take an insightful mind to notice there were frays in their marriage, even from the beginning. Hélène hadn’t loved him, Marya was vaguely certain of that, but was that the extent of it? 

In her searching, Marya found she could summon no coherent response Pierre would have given her, as hard as she tried. He felt just out of reach, just too removed from the man she was familiar with. 

Young Pierre though, young Pierre would have turned to her with that awkward half-smile of his and told her to be careful, as was often his advice to her. _Be careful Marya, not everyone is going to listen to you. Be careful Marya, people tend to hit back. Just… be careful._

She breathed in through her nose once, twice, then exhaled as she finally turned from the headstone. 

\- 

When she made it down the hillside, Marya was surprised to see that a black car remained parked along the street. She slowed as she approached it, pausing in the grass as the door began to open. Expecting Hélène, Marya’s eyebrows raised as Andrei stepped out, moving forward to greet her with a terse smile. 

“Marya.” He began, tone seeming guarded. 

“Andrei.” She nodded to him, turning to walk down the sidewalk. 

“Wait!” He grabbed her arm, releasing it almost immediately with a step back at the warning look she shot him, “Sorry, sorry. Listen.” 

Marya frowned and turned to face him. “Yes?” 

Andrei folded his arms in front of him, almost defensively, “I just wanted to warn you. I’m not sure what you’re getting into, or think you’re getting into, with her.“ 

She gestured for him to continue. 

“I know you knew Pierre, so you must understand exactly how that _cheat_ of a woman lied and manipulated her way into his life.” 

Marya raised her eyebrows further, holding back her irritation at his boldness, “Is this really necessary? I’m a grown woman and you’ve made the entire city well aware of your stance on Hélène Bezukhova.” 

“Kuragina,” He cut off with an irritated huff, “She’s a Kuragin through and through. Surely you understand that?” 

Marya breathed an exasperated sigh, closing her eyes briefly, “While I appreciate the… _concern_ , Andrei, I am well aware of what I am getting myself into.” 

“No, I don’t think you are.” Andrei continued, “She does this to everyone. She plays the charming, misunderstood woman from a strict family and bats her eyelashes and pouts her lips until you think you’re the only one who gets to see this vulnerable side of her.” Andrei scowled, “It’s sick, and it’s exactly what she did to Pierre so her father could get his claws in his fortune.” 

“I don’t think you’re giving me nearly enough credit,” Marya retorted. 

“You’re clever Marya. Put the pieces together and tell me that’s not exactly what she did to you.” Andrei responded sharply. 

Marya paused. It was enough for Andrei to continue. 

“Precisely. That family is involved in some shady business. This isn’t just about her, but I’ll take her down while I have the chance. Do yourself a favor, and don’t take her case. You don’t understand how terrible this could be for you.” 

He got back in the car without another word and within a moment the car had pulled into the street and sped away. 

Marya remained in place for a beat, pausing as she felt the first drops of rain from the sky. She turned her face upwards and closed her eyes against the droplets with another exhale. It seemed she already had a _lot_ of work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should stop updating regularly, it creates expectations asdkdfj


	4. i know why

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, sorry this one took longer, I didn't have as much prewritten. Hopefully you enjoy!
> 
> I also usually wait a day after my chapter has been finished and beta read to post it (in case of last-minute edits) but I'm impatient sooo I'll probably be mad at myself for this later.

“I had been out, I think, probably left the house around eight? He was still home then.” 

Hélène lounged casually across from Marya, looking as if she had just woken up. It was still morning, so Marya figured it made sense to some degree, but she couldn’t fathom greeting company in the parlor wearing nothing but a silk dressing gown as Hélène had seemed to deem appropriate, especially for a meeting of such importance. The car had pulled up to her office around nine-thirty that morning, when Marya had scarcely been at her desk an hour. The ride that followed took her careening through the city streets and up the winding road to the Bezukhov estate, which always seemed more removed than she remembered. 

The house itself remained impressive, although Marya could safely say she was too busy regaining her bearings after the rapid and altogether quite reckless drive to appreciate it entirely. The grounds themselves were desolate in comparison. More barren than Marya had come to expect, but it fit the vague recollection she had of the place when she had visited once, in her last year of classes with Pierre. 

She had been greeted at the door by a man she presumed tended to the house and led to the parlor where Hélène was already sitting, pinning her hair quietly. She hadn’t acknowledged Marya’s presence at first, attention focused on the bobby pins she was using to fasten her hair back and the extras she held carefully between her lips. 

When she had finally turned to speak with Marya, it had taken nearly ten minutes of idle greetings and offers, which turned to insistence, of refreshments to get to the topic at hand. 

Presently, two cups of black coffee sat untouched on the short table between them as Hélène reclined on one arm, watching Marya make notes through her thick lashes, mouth quirked slightly. 

“Tolya had come by to pick me up, taking me out drinking with him and dear Fedya.” 

Hélène reached for her cup, blowing the steam absently as she took a sip. 

“Tolya?” Marya frowned. 

“Anatole. My brother.” Hélène clarified, cupping the mug in her slender fingers as she lowered it to speak. 

“And Fedya... Dolokhov?” Marya questioned once more, scrawling the names loosely in her notepad. 

“Yes. Just Anatole came to pick me up though. Fedya and Pierre don’t exactly get along,” She laid the cup down carefully, “I assume you’ve heard enough gossip to know why.” 

Marya had heard the rumors, the height of them a few months back. Fedya Dolokhov, rogue and charmer, had an alleged affair with the beautiful wife of the city’s resident philanthropist, or whichever elaborate scene the issue had been made out to be. 

“Is it true?” 

Hélène raised an eyebrow suggestively and Marya tried to hold back her embarrassed flush at the implication. Pierre had been her friend after all. 

“It was a brief thing, not nearly so dramatic as it was made out to be, but for a time it was true.” Hélène finally spoke. 

“Was Dolokhov...jealous?” Marya mused, finally glancing back up to meet Hélène’s dark eyes. She wasn’t sure, but that relationship could be something. 

Hélène chuckled, “Well that’s a bit romantic, what you’re implying, it wasn’t as if he was in love with me. Besides, I was out _with_ him and Anatole, not sure he could have slipped away.” 

Marya frowned. It seemed too logical a conclusion to brush by entirely. “Is he still in the city? Do you think I could speak with him?” 

“Tolya went up to father’s estate, was supposed to be back for the funeral but it seems he got distracted. He’ll be back soon, he adores me. Fedya is still in the city though. Usually works at a warehouse on the south side.” Hélène shrugged. 

“Could you contact him? So we could meet” Marya said quickly, fighting to hold back her eagerness at a potential lead. Or at the very least, someone to corroborate Hélène’s story. 

“Today?” Hélène seemed taken aback. 

“I- no probably not today,” Marya was getting ahead of herself, “Maybe call him today and set up a time later this week?.” 

Hélène nodded, relaxing back into the sofa “Of course. Well anyway, we went to a few different bars, got cocktails, danced at the one with the best music and were back around midnight? It’s a bit hazy.” She breezed onwards. 

“And when you got home you...didn’t see Pierre anywhere?” Marya said carefully. This is where it would get difficult. 

“No. I left Anatole and Fedya at the door and fell asleep. I assumed he was already asleep as well.” Hélène responded slowly, eyes narrowed on Marya’s hand as she wrote. 

Marya stilled her pencil. “And… you found him the next morning but had no idea he was dead that night? How do you explain-” 

Hélène held up a finger, sipping her coffee for a moment before speaking. “We don’t sleep in the same bed. If that helps. Haven’t in a while and I didn’t bother to check in on him.” She wrinkled her nose, “That’s one of those details you don’t know whether will harm or help you. But I figure in this case it may help.” 

Her tight smile was back, the one Marya hadn’t seen since the day she had first entered her office. It was all edges and as little warmth as it showed the first time as Hélène’s eyes dragged along the edge of her coffee cup before meeting Marya’s once more. 

“It wasn’t a happy marriage but that doesn’t mean I-” She stopped and restarted, “I don’t think I _could_ do that.” 

Marya was silent, watching Hélène carefully as the quietness of the room overwhelmed them. Hélène’s eyes bored into her own, the steam of her cup grazing her cheeks. Marya held her pencil loosely in her hand, its point resting against the paper with no intention of moving. 

“Could I see it?” Marya spoke finally, voice almost a whisper. 

Hélène blinked a moment, tearing her eyes away before responding, “See what?” 

“Where you found him.” 

“I- Of course. The police already wiped it clean though, I’m afraid you won’t find much.” Hélène set her cup on the table and stood, pulling her dressing gown tight around her and gesturing for Marya to follow. 

She trailed Hélène up an opulent staircase and down the first hall available to a large bedroom, decorated plainly in neutrals. It stood glaringly spotless, the rug that Marya assumed belonged on the floor rolled up and leaning against the wall, all dressers and bedside tables empty, and the sheets and bed covers entirely stripped from the mattress. 

“The far side.” Hélène spoke softly, voice for the first time taking the serious tone Marya believed the situation deserved. “He was all tangled in the blankets as if he had been thrashing in his sleep...but so still.” Her voice trailed off and Marya caught Hélène glance back to her from the corner of her eye. 

Marya did not speak, scanning the room carefully. 

“I’ll make that call to Fedya if you’d like some time,” Hélène finally continued, “take as much as you need.” Her fingers brushed Marya’s arm as she left and Marya rubbed the spot absently once she’d gone, trying to rid the uneasy chill it left her. 

She moved forward carefully, making her way around the bed. Hélène was right, the room had been left spotless, but Marya still took everything she could in. She stood beside the bed, almost frozen when she got to the far side, brushing her fingers over the mattress lightly. 

She caught her bubble of emotions as it swelled in her chest and barely managed to shove it down before it broke free. It was not the time or place to be getting sentimental. _Focus, Marya._

She knelt down beside the bed, dragging her fingers over the wood grain for a moment, and lifting the still attached bed skirts to peer underneath. She found nothing, of course, just a thin layer of dust, but it helped marginally to know for sure. 

Marya stood once more and turned to examine the dresser. Its surface had been cleared, as expected, but the drawers were left full of Pierre’s clothing. Marya brushed through it briskly, feeling almost as if she were intruding. In the top drawer, nestled among the socks, were a few items Marya assumed the police had cleared off and deemed inconsequential. 

With them was a small, tarnished silver frame containing a photo of Hélène and Pierre on their wedding day. The glass was cracked and Marya wondered vaguely which of them had done it. Or perhaps it had truly been an accident. 

Marya did remember that day, to some degree, but it was almost shocking how vividly the photo solidified her memories. Pierre had dressed well, the expensive suit and cufflinks she would have expected given his background. His hair was combed back but sticking up slightly in true Pierre fashion, with his glasses perched on his nose and a wide, crooked grin on his face. Hélène stood by his side in a long-sleeved but low cut dress of white silk, neck dressed in pearls and elaborate veil studded with them in varying sizes. 

Marya pictured them twirling together, dancing in the middle of the room with matching grins and family surrounding them. 

Hélène looked happy, in the photo at least. Had she truly been at all? Was she that good at faking it? 

Not for the first time since the funeral, Marya found herself considering Andrei’s words. 

Manipulation was the Kuragin way. 

Although Marya had never met Hélène’s brother, she knew enough just about _him_ to solidify those rumors. And after all, wasn't there some truth to what Andrei had pointed out? Whether intentional or not, and Marya was quite certain everything with Hélène was intentional, Hélène had used her own vulnerability to get through to Marya. It hadn’t been the only reason she’d agreed to the case but it couldn't be ignored as a contributing factor. 

She knew she had to be careful. There was no clear way of determining the woman’s true motives, not yet anyways, and Marya wasn’t quite sure how she could ever. 

Hélène’s eyes had the same intensity in the photo as in person and Marya found herself needing to look away. 

“He says he has time on Monday.” Present Hélène’s voice made her jump slightly as it broke through the silence. 

She turned to see Hélène leaning against the doorframe with her arms folded around her. Her eyes looked questioningly between Marya and the frame in her hands, but she asked for no explanation so Marya gave her none. 

“I’ll go with you, if you like. But I’m not sure you’ll find what you’re looking for.” Hélène continued, almost apologetically. “It wasn’t really that kind of situation.” 

Marya hurriedly set the picture frame down as if it was hot to the touch. It felt wrong to still be holding it. 

“Even so, I’d like to speak with him. Monday sounds good.” She managed, brushing her hands on her coat. 

Hélène gave her a half-smile, resting her head fully against the doorframe. 

Marya swallowed, turning away to scan the room one last time before walking back towards the door. Hélène made no move to let her by so she was left awkwardly slipping past, far too close, through the doorway and averting her eyes slightly. 

“I suppose I’ll see you then” She finished, as soon as she made it into the hall, feeling the most uncomfortable she had been all morning. Maybe it was guilt, or perhaps embarrassment, at questioning Hélène’s motives while she was in the same room. But it was her job, what on Earth did she have to feel guilty about? 

“Leaving so soon?” 

“Afraid so,” Marya managed polite eye contact, regaining her decorum and working to disguise any discomfort. 

“My driver can take you back to that office of yours whenever you’re ready then,” Hélène pushed off from the doorway, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her silk as she made her way to the staircase, looking back over her shoulder at Marya expectantly. 

“Well? Are you coming?” 

\- 

That night Marya could scarcely sleep. Her mind was plagued by thoughts on the case, no matter how hard she tried to put them to rest. The rest of her day had been uneventful in comparison. She had spent some time at the office, although most of it was compiling the little she knew about her current job, which hadn’t done much to dispel the questions swirling in the back of her mind. 

What was she looking for? Motive? Could Dolokhov have killed Pierre purely from jealousy? To gain the favor of Hélène? It did seem a bit far fetched but nothing could be done about that until she spoke with him. 

Truly, what she needed was the autopsy report and knowledge of the poison that was used on Pierre. Those two things would do wonders for her uncertainty. 

After an hour trying to fall asleep for the night, Marya finally gave in, throwing the blanket from her face and pulling the thin manilla folder she had brought home to her lap. She took the small lamp from her bedside table and balanced it carefully on her knee. 

In the dim yellow light, she flicked through the information she had read and memorized a hundred times already. It all seemed so painfully insignificant. She _needed_ that autopsy report. 

And Hélène. _Hélène_. That was another thing that worried her. Hélène remained in her thoughts just as much as anything else. What should she think of her? She was undoubtedly charming, and intentionally disarming it seemed. Marya had no reason to trust her, so why was she so sure, all of the sudden, that Hélène hadn’t done it? 

Was it wishful thinking for her own sake? 

Marya didn’t have time to think on it much further because the door to her bedroom had opened quietly. She looked up quickly and saw Natasha, who shot her a tired smile. 

“Masha? You should really be sleeping.” 

Returning the look, Marya scooted over wordlessly so Natasha could sit beside her. 

“I should.” Marya affirmed, holding her lamp by the base so it would not topple with her movement, “but so should you.” 

Natasha yawned and rested her head on Marya’s shoulder, “I saw your light on.” 

Marya smiled briefly, “I was thinking too much. Couldn’t rest.” 

“You took the case.” 

It wasn’t accusatory, just a statement. Straightforward with no pretenses, as Natasha only was in private. There was less guise of innocence and the casual way she put it put Marya at ease just a little more. 

“Yes. Although I admit I’m not sure what to do now.” Marya breathed, closing her eyes against the thoughts that threatened to bury her once more. 

“You’ll figure it out. You always do.” She could hear the smile in Natasha’s voice even with her eyes closed. 

“I hope so.” Marya whispered back. 

She had better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Natasha so much.


	5. undercurrent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me a little while!  
> Disclaimer before this chapter: I know nothing about anything, pls don't come for me when you spot inaccuracies alskdjfj

Marya had always been a stubborn woman. 

She had often seen the consequences for such unwillingness to budge, but in the end, she found her steadfast hold on her beliefs did her much more good than harm. She remained as calm and dignified as she could in each situation and firmly held her ground. 

Of course, that didn’t mean it couldn’t get frustrating, for in this moment, Marya felt like grabbing the county coroner by his starched collar and shaking him violently in her fists. 

“What do you mean I can’t see the autopsy report, it’s a public record?” Marya fought to keep her voice level but could feel her volume rising with each syllable. 

The coroner, a rather short, mousy looking man seemed to notice as well and shuffled from his place behind the desk. 

“W-well yes in most cases it would be, but you see the file was claimed by the police department as integral to their investigation so it’s-” He swallowed at Marya’s glare, “well, I’m just not able to make available to the public.” 

Marya exhaled sharply through her nose, “Well I’m a private detective. I’m licensed. I am not the public.” 

The man chuckled hollowly, still looking up at her with wariness, “I’m afraid I still can’t give you access.” 

“Well how do I get access.” Marya ground out, nails digging into her palms. 

“I- uh, you’d have to get it from the police department.” 

Marya brought her hand to her forehead, rubbing it absently in frustration. 

“I don’t suppose you can tell me who claimed the file?” She managed after a moment. Of course, she knew exactly who had done it, but it might help focus her anger to hear it out loud. 

“Well I- I don’t know for sure but I assume it would be the head of investigation for this case. They must have deemed it important to keep private.” the man prattled, regaining some confidence with Marya’s eyes averted. 

“Thank you for all your _help_ ” Marya snapped, turning from the desk. 

“Detective Dmitryevna!” The man called as Marya reached the door. She turned to face him, eyebrow raising in question. 

“That is who you are, isn’t it?” the man seemed to be suppressing a chuckle at that, “ I just wanted to say, good luck with the case!” He wore a smug sort of grin, seeming all too at ease now that Marya was farther away from him. 

She gritted her teeth and stormed out, sending the bell clanging behind her with the slam of the door. 

It wasn’t just the coroner who had put her in such a mood, oh no, it was that she knew exactly what he was referencing. 

The news had finally broken that morning. _Marya Dmitryevna, second rate detective, takes “career-ending case.”_ With special quotes from police detective Andrei Bolkonsky, of course. To his credit, Andrei never did bash her entirely, he let the newspaper do that for him. The pitying, condescending way he phrased his interview responses was equally infuriating, however, and when Marya had read the piece on her way to the coroner's office, she felt as though smoke would spill from her ears. 

It seemed the rest of the city had read the headline just as quickly, for Marya could feel more eyes on her than usual as she made her way back down the street. Catching the whispers as she passed, Marya sighed, brow furrowed, and stepped along the side of the street to hail a cab. Avoidance seemed the only thing she could do at the moment. 

She made it back to her office with little trouble, but quickly shut the door and drew her blinds, sure wandering eyes would appear on the doorstep in no time. It was all so . . . exasperating. Why couldn’t people understand what she was trying to do? And how on Earth was she supposed to get the autopsy report now? 

Marya shrugged the coat from her shoulders, tossing it into her chair as she slumped into it. She lit a cigarette to distract herself, holding it in her mouth to free her hands. Inhaling sharply, she flipped through her painfully short case file, hands fluttering in frustration. There had to be something else, she _needed_ to do something else. 

She jumped suddenly, barely catching the cigarette as it fell from her lips, when the phone beside her began to ring. 

She almost didn’t answer it, certain it would be press of some kind that acquired her office number, or some civilian calling to get inside information. The professional side of her won out, however, and with an irritated drag from her cigarette, she pulled the phone from the hook, leaning back so she had slack on the cord from where it was mounted on her wall. 

“Hello?” 

“I- oh, morning ma chère, forgot you didn’t have a secretary.” 

_Hélène._

“Ms. Bezukhova.” 

“Hélène,” she practically purred, predictably, on the other end of the line. Surprisingly, Marya felt this did not irritate her as it usually did, in fact, it was oddly calming to hear her name in the same vaguely sarcastic tone as ever. At least there were some constants. 

“Hélène... what can I do for you?” 

“I-” Marya heard a rustle on the other end and a quiet exhale, Hélène’s voice taking an undertone that was all too serious compared to what Marya was used to, “I wanted to know if you’d seen the paper and to make sure you were...okay.” The last word had a note of question in it, as if Hélène herself was unsure if it fit. 

Marya didn’t speak for a moment. Who was Hélène to check in on her? And where had this concern come from? Hélène didn’t seem like the worrying type. There was another crackle as Hélène shifted on the other end. 

“And make sure you still want the case of course,” she amended at the silence, seeming to realize how out of place her previous sentence felt. She had crossed some sort of line Marya hadn’t yet noticed was there, or at least toed the border between personal and professional. 

“I’m okay.” Marya said finally, hearing Hélène exhale on the other end as she spoke. 

“Good. It’s not a pretty headline. And I mean, where did they get that photo? It looks like a cropped family picture or something. Frankly, it’s a little embarrassing that they didn’t get something more recent. On their part, not yours.” Hélène corrected, offhandedly. 

Marya heard the movement of paper through the phone and frowned, hand clenching against the cord. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re reading it now.” 

The rustling stopped. 

“Oops.” She heard Hélène’s breathy laugh in the background, as if she had put the phone down to chuckle. It was almost endearing to picture. 

“Don’t worry, you look as intimidating as ever. Though, it does look like you’re wearing some sort of school uniform.” Hélène’s laughter was closer this time, voice dripping with amusement. 

“Christ,” she muttered, “I think they were trying to play the angle that Pierre and I were childhood friends turned rivals or some bullshit. It must be from when we were in school together.” 

“Oh you’re too cute, it really does look like a school photo!” Hélène snorted and Marya sighed, feeling a smile creep onto her lips, unbidden. That was new. And strange to say the least. Shouldn’t she be annoyed? Or at least put-off? 

“My goddaughter will get a field day out of this, “ she finally breathed, in resignation. 

Hélène giggled on the other end of the line, before pausing to speak in a bit more serious a tone, “Well that’s not the only reason I called, Fedya canceled, the flaky bastard,” She huffed in annoyance. 

“What?” Marya’s brow furrowed, alarmed. 

“Some half-assed excuse about not being able to spare the time anymore? For all I know, he’ll be skipping town in the next few days.” 

“That’s not-” Marya fought to hold back her groan of frustration. “Well I have bad news too, they wouldn’t give me access to the autopsy report. The time of death, the poison, all I have are guesses.” 

There was a moment of quiet consideration before Hélène spoke. 

“Oh that’s not so bad, they have to give me a copy, you know.” she breezed absently, “Sure, I’m only family to him by our marriage but legally-” 

“You can get a copy?” Marya sat up in her chair. 

“Of course, you just had to ask. I’ll drop by and get it today if that’d make you feel better.” 

Of course. With Pierre’s close family essentially gone, Hélène was one of the few people who _could_ get access. Marya’s relief outweighed her feelings of ridiculousness at not thinking of it first. 

“I- please, yes that would be great.” She stumbled, tapping the ash from her cigarette absently. 

“And I can still take you to Fedya’s,” Hélène continued, not seeming to realize the wave of relief her words caused, “He might not be there but you can still, I don’t know, rummage through his things? Do all your detective stuff?” 

Marya was a bit miffed to hear Hélène talk about her job that way, but she let it slide. 

“Hélène, that’s illegal.” 

“Well not much use the law has been as of lately,” Hélène huffed on the other end. 

At Marya’s silence she continued, “Well fine, but I can still bring you there, see if we can catch him on his way out. I can tell him off for lying about not having time. And we’re friends so it’s not exactly breaking in...” 

Marya sighed but had to fight to keep her lips from quirking in amusement, “Fine, okay, tomorrow.” 

“Perfect! I’ll bring that autopsy report by as soon as I can.” 

Hélène sounded cheery. It was strange to hear and as wary as it made Marya, it felt genuine. And maybe that was the unnerving part. She still hadn’t figured out Hélène’s motivations, besides clearing her name of course, so how could she be sure Hélène’s excitement wasn’t something to be worried about? 

Andrei’s words resurfaced in her mind once more. She couldn’t afford to get distracted by Hélène’s act. Just as she predicted, this case could be the tipping point for her career. If she still had one when this was over. 

When she hung the phone back on the hook, Marya bit the inside of her cheek in concentration. While the call had put her in a better mood at first, now she was just perplexed. How could she clearly conduct her case if she wasn’t even sure she could trust her client? She wanted to trust Hélène, truly, but what kind of detective would she be if she jumped into it blindly? Especially when a significant part of her wanted to do just that. 

Hélène was an interesting woman, that much was certain, but Marya was scared to find that her mannerisms were not nearly so disconcerting as they had originally been. What had changed? Why were things changing? 

Marya waved the smoke away from her paperwork as she put out her cigarette. No. Things weren’t changing. It was one interaction, that’s all. And with her mind distracted by the folder in front of her, Marya almost managed to convince herself. 

\- 

Hélène came by in the evening, entering the office without bothering to knock, dressed in fur and dark silk that was glistening from the light mist outside. Marya had scarcely looked up to greet her when Hélène flashed her teeth and tossed a folder onto her desk. 

“That coroner is a bit of a pill, wouldn’t even flirt back,” She sighed, in lew of greeting, as she draped herself gracefully in the chair across from Marya. 

Marya raised an eyebrow, meeting Hélène’s eyes. 

Hélène’s lips slanted in amusement at Marya’s expression, “I was trying to get out of doing the paperwork, but alas.” She gestured to the folder, dark eyes never leaving Marya’s. 

For all her feigned casualness, Marya was itching to see the report, so giving in, she pulled it towards her and opened it. 

Name, age, date of exam, much of the first page was useless to Marya, but in scanning, she quickly found what she was looking for. 

_Cause of death:_

_SUDDEN CARDIOVASCULAR COLLAPSE_

_due to:_

_RESPIRATORY SHUTDOWN as a result of CYANIDE POISONING._

Cyanide. Marya bit her lip. 

“Well? What have you got, detective?” Hélène remained across from her, leaning on one hand and fingers drumming absently on her leg. 

“Cyanide poisoning,” Marya paused, running a hand through her hair as she leaned back in the chair. “This isn’t good, for you. For...us.” 

Marya watched as Hélène’s manicured nails dug into her arm, expression shifting slightly. 

“What do you mean?” her voice was guarded now, losing the playfulness she had begun with. 

“It’s fast-acting. Pier-” Marya stopped, taken aback by her voice catching slightly in her throat, “He would have been dead in minutes. He must have taken it just before he went to bed.” Marya leaned on her hand in consideration. 

“They’ll probably try to prove the killer would have to know Pierre’s routine personally, which is… accurate. That or they’ll try to place you at the house,” Marya scanned for the time of death, “between nine and eleven. They can’t place the time or dosage exactly, but they do have something.” 

She looked up and saw Hélène swallow across from her, looking at her hands. Her teeth caught her bottom lip for a moment, an expression of uncertainty Marya hadn’t noticed her make before. 

“They can take you in for questioning as much as they like but they don’t have enough to arrest you.” She said carefully, making her tone a little lighter as she tried to meet Hélène’s eyes once more. “Not yet.” 

“Right.” Hélène’s voice seemed distracted, almost distant. Marya couldn’t decide if she looked concerned or conflicted. 

“Is there anything-” Marya began, eyebrows furrowing. 

“No, I should be off,” Hélène stood, sending Marya another self-assured smile. 

“Hélène if there’s something-” 

“Tomorrow.” Hélène cut her off, “I’ll see you then.” 

Marya stood too, catching Hélène’s wrist in her hand before she could leave. Hélène’s casual expression was restored when she turned around and she met Marya’s eyes impatiently. 

“Is there anything you should be telling me?” Marya said deliberately, maintaining eye contact as best she could, "I can't help you if you're keeping things from me." 

“Tomorrow.” Hélène managed tersely, pulling her hand away and turning back towards the door, “I need some time to think.” 

She left as quickly as she came, pulling her fur around her as she stepped into the street and leaving Marya standing blankly in the office. What was _that_? 

Was Hélène guilty? Was she scared? Why had she seemed to shut down so suddenly? What word had set her off? 

Marya ran through their brief conversation in her head, unsure what could have elicited such a reaction. She didn’t think she had said anything surprising, but she had the sinking feeling that Hélène might know a little more than she was letting on. 

And the business with Dolokhov. He certainly displayed the behavior of someone with something to hide. After all, he had canceled only when Marya’s investigation became more public. Surely it was an attempt to pull away from prying eyes? Surely. 

She could only hope their investigation the next day would bring about some progress. Dolokhov was still a mystery who could easily be a dead-end, and Marya hadn’t even begun to figure Hélène out yet, as frustrating as it was to realize. 

They needed to get going if they were to keep in pace with the police department, and as grateful as Marya was to have the autopsy report in hand, her day seemed to have created more questions than it had answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to see the ungodly amount of art I keep making for this au, be sure to follow me on instagram and/or tumblr (@meetthefatess). Also, talk to me bc I want to know what you guys think of this au!


	6. to catch a thief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter this time! Still hate the pacing but whatever.

“Marya, are you sure this is a good idea?” 

Sonya frowned up at her, tucking her hair behind her ears as she spoke, “You said it yourself, you don’t even know if she’s innocent and you’re sneaking into a warehouse with her alone, at _night_.” 

Marya shot a baleful look her way, before turning back to the hall mirror where she was pinning her hair back more securely. 

“I can take care of myself,” She turned from the mirror to place a hand on Sonya’s shoulder, “but remember, you mustn’t tell Natasha when she gets home, she’d be an anxious mess.” 

Sonya raised her eyebrows, “and I won’t be?” 

“You can handle it.” Marya tutted, pulling her coat from the rack and securing it around herself. The gun in the holster beneath her arm felt heavy and ugly against her, and she made sure to turn so Sonya didn’t see it. 

“Marya please just listen, Mary said-” Sonya stopped herself too late. 

“What _did_ Mary say, “ Marya humored. She knew of several uncomplimentary things going around at the moment. 

“It’s not about you, or- or even Hélène, “ Sonya flustered in embarrassment, “She just said that Andrei is angry that you took the case. Even more than he’s letting on. And maybe it’s just a stress thing or-” she stuttered on, “well I just don’t know if it’s safe- for you. Or a good idea in the slightest.” 

“Sonya.” Marya said gently, far softer a tone than even she was used to, “If I’m not back in the morning, by all means send a rescue mission, but I’m telling you, I’ll be okay.” 

Sonya nodded but Marya could tell she was not entirely convinced. 

“I’ll be back,” she reaffirmed as she stepped out the door of the apartment and made her way down the stairs. 

It was about sunset, the clouds still pink and wispy at the edges as what little light left was stripped from them. Marya could already see the thin outline of the moon, a crescent, as it crept its way higher. It was to be a dark night then, little help the moon would serve. 

It was late enough that most had already made it home, save Natasha who lamented having to work late that morning before she left. For that reason, Marya didn’t encounter anyone as she made her way down to her office. 

She was surprised to see Hélène was already there, for when she turned the corner to her street, a glossy black car was visible parked along the curb. It was smaller than the one Marya had been picked up in, lower to the ground, and no driver was to be seen, just Hélène leaning against the hood in the midst of reapplying her lipstick. She was briefly highlighted by the fast-fading light, the dark ends of her hair turned gold as she looked to see Marya coming. 

She was dressed in muted tones, a bit more practical than her normal attire but still dripping with wealth, with dark sunglasses and a coat that was belted tightly at her slim waist. Her parted lips curled upwards at the corners as Marya got closer, and she raised her leather-gloved hand in greeting. 

“The office was locked so I figured you’d prefer I wait.” Her voice was light, teasing, and she gave no explanation nor nod to her strange behavior the night before. 

“Safe bet, I didn’t go in today,” Marya said carefully, still perturbed by the sudden way they had left things. 

“Well if you’re ready, hop in!” Hélène snapped her compact mirror closed and opened the driver’s side door, “It’s on the far south side of the city so I figured driving would be easier.” 

With only a moment’s hesitation, Marya opened the passenger door and slipped inside. The leather seats were spotless and she found herself sitting stiffly in place as she closed the door. Hélène started the car and Marya took the moment to look over at her. 

“Yesterday you said you needed time to think. Was there anything…” Marya trailed off, watching as Hélène’s mouth tightened and the car purred to life. 

“It was just a bit much to hear all at once is all. Wasn’t sure I was ready to talk about it.” She answered smoothly, affixing the smile back on her face as she began to pull into the street. 

Marya felt a frown pull her lips, certain it had been something more serious, but the tense silence the topic breach had put them in almost made her regret bringing it up. If Hélène was guarded it wasn’t likely she’d be able to get _anything_ out of her. 

In the near silence of tires on damp pavement, Marya became acutely aware of the smell of Hélène’s perfume within the enclosed space. It wasn’t strong, per se, but it crept up on her until suddenly it was the only thing she could focus on in her discomfort. Sweet, almost floral, and reminiscent of honey. Or maybe white wine. It was distracting to say the least and Marya worked to focus her attention on the street ahead of them, growing rapidly darker as they went. 

“Fedya doesn’t know we’re coming, but as far as I’m aware he’s still in the city,” Hélène spoke after a moment, voicing regaining some of its playful tone as she looked over at Marya in her now ineffectual sunglasses, “We can go by the warehouse first but I can bring you to his flat as well, he never took back his spare key so…” 

“I’d rather not break the law,” Marya restated, raising her eyebrow back at Hélène. 

“Lighten up, darling,” Hélène sighed, “he knows I have it, you don't always have to think the worst of me, you know” she looked at Marya from the corner of her eye. 

“I- I don’t. I’m not.” Marya managed. She didn’t think she was at least. Was she? 

Hélène looked amused, but not convinced as she turned back to the wheel. 

“So this warehouse,” Marya ventured, trying to keep on a safe subject. It seemed she was irking Hélène with every word she spoke otherwise. 

“I assume it’s shipping of some kind, “ Hélène began, pulling the sunglasses from her face and tucking them in the front of her shirt as the sky finally melted into a warm, dusky purple, “I know they don’t have access to the coast directly, quite obviously, but trucks will come through this part of the city because it’s the closest they can get. Dolokhov works in middle management or something, got the job from his father when he came back to the city last year.” 

“And you think you can find him there?” 

Hélène shot her a half-smile, “that and I know any information of value would be in that cramped corner of an office instead of his flat. I don’t think you’re on the right course regarding my relationship with him,” Hélène wrinkled her nose, “but I can’t say it wouldn’t put my mind at ease to see. Besides,” Her voice became slightly softer, “you still think I did it, so might as well corroborate my alibi somehow.” 

Marya opened her mouth to object but Hélène held up a hand to cut her off stiffly, “It’s fine, I understand. We’re here anyway.” 

The streets on the south end of the city were structured about the same, although they seemed a bit wider in the far-spaced pools of lamplight. The warehouse that loomed before them was an ugly brick building, somewhat newer than its neighbors, and taking up much of the block on its own. Hélène pulled into a smaller street that ran along its far side and parked the car against the curb a few doors behind the building. Out of sight but still with access to the main road. 

“Office is on the top floor, they’ll probably have some level of security at this hour but I doubt anyone else is in. They’ll recognize me anyways,” Hélène said, voice somewhat hushed as she silenced the car, “If Fedya isn’t up there, we can look around a little then drop by his flat to talk to him.” 

While Marya was still a little off-put by the methods, even coming at night felt wrong, she had to admit she wouldn’t feel assured Dolokhov hadn’t done something unless she checked all the boxes. She supposed they’d have to do things Hélène’s way for a little while. 

Hélène led her to a side door, one marked _authorized personnel only_ , and paused outside. 

“You want to stay here for a moment? They might be a little on edge if it’s not just me at first,” Hélène said apologetically. Although all of Marya’s instincts were screaming against the idea, both Andrei and Sonya’s warnings flashing in her head, she forced a stiff nod in acknowledgment. It wasn’t as if there was much she could do otherwise. 

Hélène shot her a brief smile before slipping in the door. It was only a minute or two, during which Marya became aware of the drizzle beginning to collect at her feet, before Hélène emerged again and quickly waved Marya inside the dark building. It was surprisingly open, large metal crates Marya could only just make out in the dim lighting lining the walls and creating faux paths through the open floor. 

“Caught them locking up,” Hélène said softly, leaning close enough that Marya could feel her breath, “Head security. They’ll be out of the way in a moment, said the last of the workers left just recently, including management like Fedya. Apparently they really are sending a large shipment out tomorrow night so Fedya did get a little busy.” 

Marya nearly startled when Hélène suddenly grabbed her loosely by the arm after speaking, and began to lead her towards the stairs on the far wall. 

She allowed herself to be led up the first, and only, flight of stairs and to a door marked _Fyodor Dolokhov_ on that still dimly lit second floor. There, Hélène released her hold on Marya’s wrist and moved forward to gesture Marya inside. 

The office was small, not painfully so, but smaller than what Marya had expected. It was about the size of her own office, or perhaps larger but shrunk by the clutter. 

Everything was impressively disorganized; files sat half-opened on cabinets and the desk, loose pencil shavings littered the floor beside the wastebasket, a dead plant sat in the small window overlooking the street, and there was even a small couch crammed in the corner beside the door, not matching the rest of the room in the slightest. 

They got to work silently, Marya doing a quick circle around the room as Hélène went straight to the desk. Most of the files were working contracts, invoices, details on pickups, and the schedule for the coastal drop-offs that occurred every month or so. There was a lot there, but it was all terribly mundane, something Marya figured she should be happy about but instead made her feel a little foolish. 

Thunder rumbled from outside, the muted noise of raindrops on a metal roof increasing in volume and frequency. 

“He’s been hiring a lot of new people recently,” Hélène mused, stepping close to Marya so she could hear her hushed words over the rain, offering the file she held delicately in her gloved hands. Marya caught another whiff of that perfume as she took it, Hélène not stepping away at all and instead leaning to look over Marya’s shoulder as she read it. 

It was true, they had employed over thirty new workers of varying levels of experience within the last week or so. 

“You don’t suppose it’s all for this big coastal shipment huh?” Marya whispered back, flipping through the sheets carefully. 

Hélène shrugged, “Maybe.” She turned away, moving back towards the window. 

“I mean, I assume the shipping company sending trucks up must account for some of the labor, right?” Marya mused absently, setting the file on the desk to better flip through it. 

“Hey, Marya…” 

“Maybe I’m reading into this? It’s entirely possible.” She breathed, barely registering Hélène’s voice behind her. 

“Marya!” 

She was louder this time and Marya was broken from her thoughts momentarily. 

“Yes?” 

Hélène’s back was to her, eyes fixed on something outside the window, “Someone’s here…” 

Marya frowned, closing the file and moving to stand beside Hélène, “Someone you know?” 

“I don’t think so,” Hélène shook her head, gesturing down through the rain- fogged glass. 

A car had pulled up near theirs, parking directly behind where Hélène had left it sitting. A figure got out, walking up to Hélène’s car and kneeling to view the license plate before walking around the car entirely, surveying every inch. 

“Is that Fyodor?” Marya ventured, knowing it would be a long shot. 

“No.” Hélène said quietly, voice tremoring slightly at the end. 

The figure stood on the sidewalk now, pacing up and down it before coming to a stop on the wet pavement. They stood there for a moment before suddenly, without warning, snapping their head up directly at the window. Hélène startled beside her, grasping Marya’s arm in tense fingers. They watched as the figure, still looking up at them, raised their fingers to their mouth in a sound Marya couldn’t hear over the rain. Quickly, seeming to come from cars parked just out of sight, more dark shapes began to make their way onto the rainy street, following the first’s eyes up to the window 

Marya seized Hélène’s hand on her arm and pulled her quickly away from the window. It was just in time too, because as soon as they stepped back a gunshot echoed out in those wide streets as something hard and fast hit the bottom pane of the window, breaking through with a loud impact that sprayed crumbled bits of glass and rainwater across the wood floors. 

_They were shooting at them._

The noise and accompanying rumble of thunder that followed galvanized Marya into action, seizing Hélène by the hand and dragging her quickly from the room. Hélène clung to her arm in a crushing grip, only tightening when they made it into the hall and heard loud pounding against the door they had come in through. 

“Thank god he locked the doors,” Hélène breathed, voice tight with panic. 

“We still have to get out,” Marya managed to say back, leading Hélène to the stairwell, flinching as a sudden loud bang against the door shook it on its hinges. 

“Christ,” she muttered, “it looks like they were following us.” 

“I swear I have no idea what’s going on. I had nothing to do with this, Marya, you have to believe me!” Hélène sounded frantic in her hushed tone. 

Marya didn’t respond, instead tightening her hold on Hélène’s hand and pulling her down the stairs quietly. There was another crash, this time from the floor above them, and Marya pulled Hélène with her behind one of the enormous towers of crates on the ground floor. She pressed her own back against it, vaguely aware of Hélène pressed beside her as she scanned what she could see of the top floor. 

After a moment of no movement and only the sounds of rain outside, Marya moved to step out towards the main doors, but Hélène seized her arm with both hands and dragged her back into cover. At Marya’s incredulous look, Hélène pulled her close by the shoulders, mouth almost against Marya’s ear to whisper. “Second floor. Along the railing. Right of the stairwell.” 

Her warm breath tickled Marya’s hair as she turned to look at the spot Hélène had pointed out. There, along the railing were two figures, both men and only remotely easier to make out than they were in the street. Marya caught the shine of a gun in the hand of at least one and cursed under her breath. There was no way they wouldn’t see them. 

Carefully, Marya shifted, pulling her own gun from beneath her coat moving slightly away from Hélène. She peered from around the crate they were pressed against and scanned the floor of the warehouse. The pounding had stopped, they had either gotten the door open or moved inside in other ways because Marya could make out a few dark silhouettes on the ground floor with them. 

Lightning flashed from outside and Marya looked back up to the second floor just as the man by the stairwell looked her way. His head stiffened upon locking eyes with her and Marya cursed, ducking quickly behind the crate as a gunshot rang out, the sound and clattering of the deformed bullet as it missed and slid across the concrete floor echoed through the open space. There were footsteps now, not bothering to be quiet anymore as the figures began to close in. 

Hélène’s eyes were wide and Marya seized her by the arms, “You’re going to run for the door, okay? I’ll try to keep them at bay.” Her voice was surprisingly level from the adrenaline and Hélène nodded wordlessly. 

Marya pushed Hélène towards the main doors, as she took a half step out from behind the crate. Her first two shots missed but sent the figures on the railing ducking for cover. Hoping to buy Hélène more time, Marya ran across the gap between two towers of crates, taking cover behind the second as a spray of bullets impacted the concrete around her. 

Her chest was heaving beneath her coat and her fingers tense against the grip of her gun. She peered out, firing another shot before ducking away and looking up as Hélène disappeared through the door behind her. Good. Now it was her turn. 

Taking a minute to control her breathing, Marya began to inch along the stack she was behind, making her way to the concrete wall. She walked beside it carefully, just barely picking up the hushed voices of those who were pursuing them. Sharp orders, sending a second group around the other side of the warehouse. She could still hear the footsteps of the closest few closing in on her corner. Biting her cheek in concentration, she took her first step slightly into the open, only twenty feet from the big main doors. There was no immediate reaction from her pursuers but by the second step, Marya heard one yell out and saw heads turn her way. 

Not even bothering to pull her gun up in retaliation, Marya lunged for the doors, bursting through them as shots began to ring out behind her. Miraculously out of reach, Marya found herself stumbling out onto the pavement along the main street, rain pouring down and immediately plastering her clothing to her. Barely pausing a second, Marya began to run along the building, looking for Hélène. 

She almost crashed into the other woman as she turned onto the street where the car was, as Hélène was waiting, pressed against the wall just around the corner. The other car was still parked behind theirs but thankfully, no one was in it. 

The pouring rain had slicked Hélène’s curls to her face as she stared blankly at Marya, visibly shaking. Marya quickly came to a stop in front of her, “Hélène?” She didn’t respond. “Hélène, can you drive?” Marya said frantically as another gunshot echoed behind them. Were those footsteps rounding the street corner or was it just the pounding of the rain? The deafening rumble of that night’s thunder? 

She took Hélène’s wet cheeks in her hands and forced her eyes to meet Marya’s own, “ _Hélène_ , can you drive?” 

Her panicked eyes flicked around them, seeming to regain some bearing before her mouth opened, “I-” 

“Give me the keys,” Marya said quickly, tugging Hélène by the hand to the passenger door. 

She pulled the keys from her trembling fingers and slid quickly into the driver’s seat, starting it as Hélène’s door closed. There was a noise behind them as Marya began to pull onto the road, and she glanced into the rearview mirror to see a few shapes come through the authorized personnel door. Without another glance back, she quickly sped onto the main street. 

Although in the drive Marya did not see a car begin to follow them, she looped through side streets for nearly half an hour before daring to return to her original route. She doubted anyone would dare follow them into the crowded center of the city they had come from, but the entire fiasco had left her nearly buzzing with anxiety. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping her going. 

Hélène sat in the passenger seat silently the entire time, leaning forward and resting her hands in her wet hair. 

Marya ended up parking the car on the street beside her apartment building, stopping it and looking to Hélène as her head raised in confusion. 

“You shouldn’t be driving right now,” Marya ventured. 

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Hélène said quietly, voice raspy, “Fedya’s isn’t safe a-” 

“I meant you could stay here.” Marya finished. 

Hélène looked at her strangely, wet curls leaving trails of water her face with the movement. 

“It isn’t big or anything,” Marya continued, uncomfortable with the silence, “but they know this car so here is probably the safest place to hide it in plain sight.” 

“Okay.” Hélène said softly, after a moment. 

With the night’s events still making her blood race in her chest, Marya stepped out of the car, rain still drenching her clothes. Hélène followed her wordlessly up the stairs, the only sound between them the squeak of wet shoes on wood. 

Marya unlocked her door as quietly as she could. It was late enough that she figured both Natasha and Sonya would be asleep, but she knew they’d both be up and asking a million questions if they caught the slightest noise. 

Luckily, it seemed neither was alerted, as Marya was able to wave Hélène inside and close the door behind them without any stirring from within the apartment. 

Turning to see Hélène standing stiffly in the hall, Marya had to fight slight feelings of embarrassment. Sure, her flat wasn’t tiny, she had inherited some money from deceased family and it had to fit the three of them after all, but it was nothing compared to what Hélène must be used to. It was a trivial thing to worry about given the circumstances of the night, but Marya still felt it plague her. 

Marya hung up her coat and moved past Hélène to the kitchen, looking back as she did. Hélène hadn’t moved from the hall, eyes turned down and wringing her hands in front of her. 

“You can sit down,” Marya offered quietly, gesturing to the faded red sofa in the small living room, “I can get coffee, tea-“ 

“Vodka?” Hélène interrupted wryly, voice still hollow but finally looking up to meet Marya’s eyes. 

Marya smiled at that. 

“Coffee is fine,” Hélène managed as she moved towards the couch, sinking onto the edge of it with only a bit of her usual grace. 

Marya turned away to put a pot on, pulling two mugs down from the cabinet as she waited for the water to heat up. 

Hélène had finally taken off her wet coat when Marya returned minutes later with the two steaming cups, holding the garment in her lap between her paled, shivering fingers. She was still shaking. 

Marya sat beside her, a safe distance away, and pulled the thick knit blanket from the back of the couch. 

“Here.” She reached out and took the jacket in exchange, tossing it over a dining room chair to dry before draping the blanket over Hélène’s shoulders and handing her the mug. 

“Are you okay?” It was a loaded question and Marya knew it as soon as it left her mouth, feeling the unease in the room nearly overwhelm her. There was a beat of silence where neither of them moved before Hélène opened her mouth to speak. 

“There’s something you should know.” 

Marya’s fingers tensed around her cup. That certainly wasn’t where she expected this to go. 

“Is this about yesterday?” 

“No. I-“ Hélène paused, staring at her coffee a moment, “it’s about tonight. And it’s more something I should tell you before you notice it yourself and think terribly of me.” 

Marya struggled to keep her voice level with the anxiety coursing through her in the moment, “what do you mean?” 

Hélène seemed to falter, dark eyes turning up to meet Marya’s with worry, “They wouldn’t shoot at me. It wasn't that they missed, they wouldn’t shoot at all, even when we were together,” she bit her lip. 

“The only one they were shooting at was you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will pick up right where we left off! Hopefully you enjoyed this one, and hand-holding for safety amr ;)


	7. among the living

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bro, who let me write a slow burn?

Marya sat still for a moment, looking down at her coffee in consideration of the statement. She could feel Hélène’s eyes on her, clearly expecting a more exorbitant reaction. 

“Are you sure?” she said finally, nails finally clenching tightly around the cup. 

Hélène almost looked offended, some mannerisms of her usual self slipping through, “Yes I’m sure! He made eye contact with me as I left, Marya. Eye. Contact. Before turning his gun to you.” She gave another shudder, finally relaxing slightly into the blanket Marya had given her. 

Marya set her coffee cup down, bringing her hands to her forehead with an elongated exhale. _Shit._

“I know you’re thinking the worst,” Hélène started again, voice hollow, “but I don’t know what to think either” 

Marya nearly startled as Hélène’s hand, warmed slightly by her mug, rested on hers delicately. She turned to look at Hélène, who was still wide-eyed and damp from the rain. 

“I didn’t do this and I-” she trailed off, seeming to notice Marya stiffen, and withdrew her hand, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders, resolve coming back marginally as she moved to speak again “ and I need to call Fedya to make sure he’s okay.” 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Marya interrupted, running a hand through her already mussed hair, to distract herself from the slight heat she could feel on her cheeks. “This could very well mean Dolokhov is responsible, he wouldn’t shoot at you.” 

Hélène shook her head firmly, turning away “No. They damaged _his_ warehouse and threatened _his_ business. Fedya wouldn’t do that, even to frighten us off.” 

Marya nodded vaguely in agreement, but could not keep her stomach from turning. Someone clearly did not want them meddling. No. Someone clearly didn’t want _Marya_ meddling. 

“Call him in the morning,” she said finally, standing from the couch, “you need rest.” she added more gently, sparing a quick glance to the trembling woman but not daring to meet her eyes again. 

“Wait,” Hélène’s cold fingers on her wrist were shocking enough that Marya nearly dropped the mug she’d scooped up. Rather than pull away at this reaction as she had before, Hélène reached to tug the mug from her hands and set it on the table beside hers, turning back to take both of Marya’s hands in her own. 

Alarmed by the suddenness, Marya allowed herself to be pulled back down to the couch, knee to knee with Hélène who looked uncharacteristically serious, blanket slipping from her shoulders. 

“I don’t think I can-” She stopped suddenly, voice catching as she looked down at her lap. Marya followed her gaze to where Hélène’s hands were still clasped tightly around her own. This felt… _dangerous_ and Marya was caught between leaning closer and pulling away. 

“You always do catch me in my worst moments, darling, “ Hélène finally managed, looking up again. Marya was shocked to see that her eyes were wet at the corners. “I only mean, I don’t think I can stand to sleep. Too much, noise.” She let out a dark chuckle, releasing Marya’s hand to gesture to her head with a sniff that could have been from the cold. 

Marya tightened her hands around Hélène’s as she looked down at them, stumbling internally for a response, “I see. I don’t-” 

“Just talk to me? For a little? Stupid, trivial things if you can.” Her smile was sad, mascara running a little at the edges from the rain, looking as if she fully expected Marya to pull away. 

Marya’s heart ached and she couldn’t quite place why. 

“Okay,” Marya said after a moment, voice quieter than she intended it to be, “okay.” 

She paused, unsure where to start, but Hélène’s look of immense relief spurred her forwards. 

“You know, when I was small, an only child mind you, I refused to let anyone give me a nickname because I thought they were making fun of me.” Marya started, after a beat of silence, unsure where she was going and more so talking just to talk, “my second year, I gave a boy a bloody nose for calling me Mary, but our teacher didn’t believe him because I told her it was an accident.” 

Hélène’s shoulders shook with gentle laughter and Marya was surprised to feel a smile slip onto her own face, “Come to think of it, I don’t think she’d have believed I’d done it if I told her.” 

Hélène blinked up at her in consideration for a moment before she spoke, “Anatole still calls me Lena because when he was little he said it made me sound like a movie star from the pictures. He was convinced I’d be in films someday.” Her expression was fond, losing some of its edge. 

“I could see it. Did you ever want to be?” Marya responded easily, still keeping her voice hushed for the time of night. 

Hélène’s nose wrinkled, face falling only briefly, “Ah, it didn’t much matter what I wanted as soon as I was old enough to marry. Vassily’s traditional like that.” 

It was off-putting to hear Hélène refer to her father by his first name, without a drop of endearment in it, and Marya nearly winced at the clear distaste she expressed. Hélène caught her expression and looked almost pityingly at her. 

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, talking about my marriage. I know you two were...close.” 

“He never talked about you much.” Marya said plainly, regretting her bluntness as it came out of her mouth. 

Hélène didn’t look surprised, however, just giving a close-lipped smile and squeezing Marya’s hands slightly, “He wouldn’t have. It was pretty clear after the wedding how things would be between us.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Marya didn’t know what she was apologizing for, but it felt like the right response. 

“Me too.” Hélène breathed, almost imperceptibly, then winced. 

“You know, I’m afraid I did wish for his death.” Hélène spoke faintly, after a painful pause, hands loosening around Marya’s as she turned her head up to face the ceiling, eyes open and staring at nothing. Marya felt her breath stop in her chest as she watched the other woman. 

“That someday he would die and finally, _finally_ Vassily Kuragin would be appeased.” She sneered the last bit, but Marya saw a tremble in her bottom lip. 

She resisted some intrinsic urge to reach out and instead watched Hélène carefully, on edge and not quite knowing what to expect after a confession like that. It was concurrently complicated and simple, the topic, and Marya wasn’t sure if she’d breached something she hadn’t meant to, or if this was something she should be hearing at all. 

“It’s terrible isn’t it?” her voice had become little more than a rasp, “to wish for your husband’s death? But I _do_ want to be honest with you, and on those dark, dark days I would just think that maybe he would die first and I would have a whole life to live. I would never be expected to bear children or play the pretty little trophy wife so my father could get his hands on that fortune. I could pretend to be consumed by grief, never have to remarry, and my father would no longer need me.” 

She swallowed, teeth catching her lip with the movement, and finally moved to look at Marya with a watery smile, “Not exactly the sort of thing I should be telling someone who thinks I killed him, huh?” 

Marya was silent, head absorbed in her words. She should feel outraged, maybe. Some cousin to her temper, rather than the unnatural stillness the confession wrought in her. Hell, Andrei would surely find it incriminating but Marya was sure, in the moment realizing she’d been for a while, that Hélène was innocent. It was somewhat exhilarating to finally feel certain, but in the face of Hélène’s vulnerability, Marya still didn’t know what to say. 

“I really pulled us far from trivial and vain topics, “ Hélène cut in before Marya could speak, wiping her eyes quickly before clasping Marya’s hands again with a self-deprecating laugh. 

“Hélène…” was all she managed, saying the name with a kind of quiet compassion usually reserved for Natasha or Sonya. Not what she intended at all but still, the silence stretched between them a beat too long. 

Marya opened her mouth to try again but Hélène, seeming embarrassed by her outburst, quickly changed their course; sweeping her onto other topics like department stores, lipstick shades, and her new shoes before Marya could even think to touch back on family or their case. 

The air still felt raw between them, and Marya wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. The casualty of it all had helped still her rapidly beating heart from the events of the night, but every nerve inside her felt tensed for any disturbance. It seemed to calm Hélène to some degree as well, for, after nearly an hour, her thick lashes began to droop until she was entirely slumped against the back of the couch. 

Marya took this as her cue and pulled her hands from Hélène’s now warm and slack ones to stand. 

Now Marya had always known what she wanted, she was sure she was not one for dancing around things. She was sometimes uncertain, occasionally wrong, but in the grand scheme of her life, she had always been able to trust her instincts. 

So maybe that’s why her realization scared her. 

For looking down at Hélène’s sleeping form, she found herself hazily wanting to know what her mouth would taste like. 

\- 

Marya had all but forgotten about that night’s conversation when she woke up the next morning, but voices from outside her bedroom door cleared her sleep laden memory in the blink of an eye, leaving her scrambling to change from the water-wrinkled clothes she had slept in, having been too tired to rid them the night before. 

She hadn’t warned the girls in the slightest. 

When Marya finally emerged, near frantically with her blouse only partially tucked into her trousers and hair tumbling loose down her shoulders, the scene that greeted her was not nearly so alarming as she anticipated. 

Natasha and Sonya sat at the table across from Hélène, whose curls were awry from sleep and mid-conversation with the younger of the two girls. It was evident Natasha was charmed by her, leaning on one hand and not even bothering to look up when Marya entered. 

“Morning.” It was Sonya who greeted her, meeting Marya’s gaze as the other heads turned her way. There was something in Sonya’s eyes, something Marya knew well. A question, some inherent worry and need for explanation. _Is everything okay?_ Marya did not humor her for the moment, moving to step around the table and towards the kitchen. 

“Oh, Masha! Are you alright? Hélène said you two got caught in the storm last night.” Natasha turned to her with wide eyes, looking almost more excited by the thought than concerned. She always did have a flair for the dramatic. 

“I was just explaining to them why I’ve intruded for the morning,” Hélène met Marya’s eyes from her place across from Natasha, voice steady, “dreadful weather last night.” 

Marya gave a soft nod, grateful Hélène had thought to keep some details of their experience to herself while Marya processed it. In truth, she had no idea how much, if any, she was willing to tell either of the girls. Would they be safer knowing of or ignorant to the possible danger? 

When she turned back to the table with a fresh cup of coffee from the kitchen, it was already evident Sonya was not convinced, but thankfully she kept her mouth shut for the time being, instead flicking her gaze between Hélène and Marya sporadically. 

“I’m alright,” Marya answered finally, taking the last remaining seat at the table, “just a bit of bad timing with the rain.” 

It felt like she had interrupted something, which was ridiculous considering it was _her_ apartment after all, but the air between them seemed uncomfortable, stuffy. Too personal. 

Natasha didn’t seem to catch on and breezed forward, “Well it did sound terribly exciting from inside, I could scarcely sleep once that thunder started, I’m surprised I didn’t hear you!” 

“Tried our best not to wake you, ma chère, I would never want to be a bother,” Hélène practically purred in response. It was strange to hear the collected side of her once again, but Marya didn’t comment on it. She was blunt by nature, but it didn’t feel like her place to. Too personal, yet again. 

Sonya’s eyes narrowed on her from across the table, still questioning, but Marya pretended she didn’t notice, instead focusing on her coffee. 

“I do wish I could get a job doing something that exciting, “ Natasha mused, attention turned back to Hélène, “I’m only working as a receptionist right now and it’s practically mindless. They hardly trust me with anything.” 

“Did you want to call that friend of yours?” Marya finally addressed Hélène, ignoring Natasha’s pout at having the conversation interrupted, and Sonya’s indignant stare at being ignored, “There’s a phone in the hall.” 

Hélène smiled, a sliver of her vulnerability still present in it, now that Marya knew what to look for, “I should probably just be off, I look a wreck and I can always make the call from home.” 

Marya nodded absently. She supposed she should be more relieved to see Hélène go, in order to break the awkward edge to the conversation, but a part of her felt disappointed somehow. That was...new. 

“Could I speak to you, for a moment, on your way out,” Marya shot pointed looks at both girls, “alone?” 

“Of course,” Hélène answered smoothly, moving to rise from the table. 

Marya’s stare silenced outbursts from both Sonya and Natasha, likely two very different objections, as she stood up as well, gesturing Hélène into the hall with her. 

“Are you upset with me?” Hélène frowned, when they got vaguely out of earshot, looking concerned, “I promise I didn’t say anything scandalizing, I know how to hold my tongue.” 

“I- no,” Marya frowned in return. Was that really Hélène’s first thought? 

“I was just going to ask if you wanted to see about sending Dolokhov over to my office today to talk to me, us, if you wanted to be there. I assume he’ll want to know exactly what happened.” 

“Oh,” Hélène brightened slightly, “I could do that,” she bit her lip after a moment of consideration, “would have to be earlier rather than later though, as soon as possible really. His shipment goes out tonight and I assume he’ll have to supervise some portion of it. I’ll call him as soon as I get home, “ her eyes darkened with worry, “I really hope he’s okay.” 

Marya nodded swiftly, unsure how to provide comfort to the other woman, but it seemed to be enough. 

“I-” Hélène cleared her throat, eyes pulling from Marya’s for a moment, “Thank you. For everything,” and before Marya could fully process what was happening, Hélène stood on her tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss to Marya’s cheekbone, pulling away quickly to grab her jacket and keys. 

“I’ll call you about Fedya. Soon.” Hélène tossed over her shoulder with a smile as she left, leaving Marya standing rigidly in the hall, flush creeping up her neck. 

Oh. 

_Oh no._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pushed all my plot to next chapter because tender, oops!  
> also, the cheek kiss is something I drew nearly a month ago but wasn't sure if I'd be able to fit in. But yay! It made the cut!


	8. careless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! sorry about the wait, I meant to get this out last weekend but obviously that didn't happen  
> Hopefully this doesn't feel super rushed! originally parts of this would have been in the last chapter but I didn't want that one to get super long.

_That wasn’t- no._

Marya’s thoughts rushed within her head, each stumbling over the next as she became conscious of them. 

_She wasn’t-_

_It wasn’t as if-_

_Hélène._

Marya scrunched her eyes shut, willing her reddened skin to fade before she had to walk back into the kitchen and before prying eyes. What a conversation that would be. 

Taking a moment to collect herself, she eventually managed to expel the interaction from her mind, rubbing her hand over her face one more time, before venturing back to the girls. 

“Sorry about that, she’s just headed out,” Marya managed, stomaching the shakiness she felt in her voice when the two stares met hers as soon as she rounded the corner. 

“You didn’t let us say goodbye,” Natasha exclaimed at the same time as Sonya’s more suspicious, “What happened?” 

“Everything is fine,” Marya started, wincing internally as soon as it was said, “things are just getting a little more complicated with the case and our investigation last night didn’t go exactly as planned. I’ll have to head down to the office soon.” 

The statement worked marginally to placate the two, but neither looked entirely happy with the response. 

“What do you mean it didn’t go as planned?” Sonya’s eyes were challenging, daring her to make another excuse. 

“Sonya-” 

“And how come I didn’t even get told about the investigation until this morning.” Natasha cut in, leaning further across the table. 

_Christ._

Marya rubbed her temples, already feeling a headache building. She needed coffee, a cigarette, hell, just a good night’s sleep to drive the god-forsaken ringing from her head. She had so much she needed to do and yet no idea what she was doing. Wasn’t she supposed to be sure about something? Wasn’t she supposed to be in control? 

“It’s just. Complicated.” She finally managed through gritted teeth, eyes closed against the dim lights of the flat in the early morning. 

When she opened her eyes, both Sonya and Natasha’s looks had morphed into concern, something Marya dismissed with a wave of her hand, grasping for her coffee cup across the table. She was so tired, and yet she could feel a vague tremor in her fingers as she held the cup in tense hands. As if the last jolts of adrenaline from the run in the night before were chasing her movements. Reminding her. 

“Can you trust her?” Sonya ventured lightly, motioning for Marya to sit back down at the table. 

Marya closed her eyes again, choosing to remain standing, “I think so.” 

“And she’s not using you?” 

Marya clenched her fingers around the cup. She wasn’t sure why the question bothered her this time around, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t heard the remark before, but for some reason the words, so casual from Sonya’s mouth, made her grit her teeth once more. 

Hélène using her. Yes, it made sense. Hélène, who married Marya’s childhood friend for his money. Who was rumored to have a multitude of affairs. Who didn’t take even a moment to grieve. Who could have killed him. 

Who _would_ have killed him. 

So why couldn’t Marya see her like that? Why was the only version of Hélène she could picture the one who was playful, infuriating, and so beautiful she felt she could melt on the spot when they so much as brushed hands? No. 

_No._

She wasn’t allowed to humor that kind of thought. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Marya,” Natasha’s voice was sympathetic as she stood, placing her hand on Marya’s arm. Marya gave her a tight smile before pulling away briskly and setting her mug harshly on the cheap vinyl countertop. 

“I’ll be down at the office if you need to call,” Marya sighed, running a hand quickly through her sleep-rumpled hair, “be careful. Please.” 

The addition resulted in a few more concerned looks shot her way, but Marya didn’t have the heart nor mindset to indulge them just yet. Her head was too crowded, her migraine only building, and the thought of resting for just a moment filled her with dread. 

\- 

Her walk down to her office and the agonizing wait for Hélène’s call gave Marya far too much time with her thoughts. Time that should have been spent reviewing her file or the events from the evening prior, were occupied with summoning flimsy explanations for her own behavior. 

Was it the stress? It had to be the stress. She had been working on a case with barely any evidence and nearly had been shot, of course she was stressed. 

And Hélène had obviously been drained, likely still in shock, and had always been unpredictable. This was certainly just another subset of that. 

Marya wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince, but it was exhausting work. 

She was also surprised to realize she still felt protective of the woman, in one way or another. She awaited the call not just for the case, but because she felt some need, an inherent urge, to make sure Hélène had made it back okay. It was almost unnerving how the woman had planted herself in Marya’s thoughts. What business did Marya have worrying over her? 

In the end, it wasn’t a call, as she’d hoped, that broke through her thoughts, but rather a heavy knock at her office door. Someone waiting in the other room no less. Briefly, she recalled Natasha’s remark that she needed a secretary, but she didn’t humor the idea for long, instead directing her attention to the source of the noise. 

“You can come in.” 

She could already hear the edge in her own voice, natural considering how off guard the knock had taken her, but perhaps not the most welcoming. 

While Marya was not sure what she was expecting, a complete stranger was not at the top of the list. Upon further inspection of the man who entered, Marya did find some familiarity, however. She had seen him in the papers, stoutly built, bearded, with dark hair and well-kept clothing, only slightly disheveled. 

Fyodor Dolokhov. 

“You’re Marya Akhrosimova, yes? Yelena gave me this address, “ He spoke before she could, quickly, as he approached the desk. His tone was brisk and eyes narrowed as they swept over Marya. Distrusting. 

“Yes.“ Marya swallowed, brow furrowing slightly in surprise, “I was under the impression she would be joining us, is-” 

“Yes, she told me to apologize on her behalf,” Dolokhov moved to sit in the chair across from her without further invitation, pausing to scan her face again before continuing, searching for something, “midway through our call she said she saw a police car pull up to the house.” 

There was a moment of tense quiet in which Marya felt as if her heart had skipped in her chest, like her lungs had been drained suddenly of all air and she was left floundering in the silence. This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

Her immediate concern seemed to be shared by Dolokhov, who raked his hand through his hair with gritted teeth across from her. 

“She- what?” Marya felt her hands clench and unclench against her will. 

“She insisted I still come here though,” his voice maintained that guarded tone, “she kept her voice level but I could tell she was frightened. I know Lena, have known her for an age.” 

His words were harsh in her direction. Marya had hardly met the man a minute, but she already had the feeling she’d done something wrong in his eyes. 

“There’s no way they have enough to arrest her, not now” Marya managed, pushing through her rushing thoughts to speak, “It must just be more questioning.” 

His eyes turned on Marya, almost accusatory, “You’re really helping her? You’re not just taking her money and feeding her information to the police? Why is this- this bullshit- still happening if you’re clearing her name? Shouldn’t you be doing something?” 

Marya felt her composure begin to crack in spite of her intention to be civil, and interrupted, voice sour against her tongue, “You disappeared as soon as this happened. Hélène didn’t hear a word until she called you. _I_ am doing what I can to help her, it doesn’t seem you’re doing the same.” 

Marya knew she had struck a nerve, watching the vein leap in his right temple as her hands clenched against the edge of the desk, but she wasn’t sure she cared. Some combination of concern for Hélène and for the case had coalesced into an eerie calm within her, accented only by the racing of her pulse. 

“You don’t know how to handle a woman like Hélène,” Dolokhov finally responded, voice more restrained than Marya had been expecting, “You have to be careful with her.” 

“Believe me, I’ve received more warnings about Hélène Bezukova than I can count on both hands.” Marya counteracted sharply. 

To her surprise, Dolokhov chuckled darkly at that. It wasn’t a pretty sound, and for the first time, she was struck by how similar he was to Hélène. The sharpness in the edges of a smile so heavy-handed it felt like an imitation of amusement, his laughter only seeming to further his disdain, and the dark eyes that locked on hers without hesitation. His eyes were cold in her direction, however, while the shred of softness Marya’d experienced in Hélène’s remained imprinted in her mind. 

“I’m not saying to be careful of her, I’m saying be careful _with_ her. You still don’t understand. Lena, she-, “ Dolokhov paused, eyes turning down for a moment, “she’s never been very happy. She hardly made one decision for herself, thanks to that family, and I’m afraid she was spiraling long before any of this,” he gestured aimlessly, “happened.” 

His attitudes _were_ very similar to Hélène’s the more Marya looked. Cold, collected, but with some hint of bitterness lingering on the deliberate ends to his words. Similar mannerisms, similar lives, Marya surmised. She couldn’t help her thoughts from slipping to her conversation with Hélène the night before, feeling a recurring pang of hurt for the woman, before her attention returned to Dolokhov. 

“I know you were friends with Bezukhov, but she should never have married that man. Nothing happy came out of that match.“ Dolokhov continued, quieter, “I know that not because I was involved in this mess, because I care about her,” he finished, pointedly, before Marya could speak. 

“I- yes, she did mention you two made quite the pair.” Marya’s voice was tense, losing some hostility, but still guarded at the brashness of his words. 

“Not like that,” Dolokhov interrupted, with a dismissive wave of his hand, “it might have been easier for us if we’d fallen in love, but I just care about her.” 

There was a beat where Marya was unsure what to say. It wasn’t as if she’d expected this kind of conversation just tailing her introduction to the man. 

“I do too.” She found herself answering, honestly, “I may not know her as well as you, but I do want to help and I am trying to fix this, “ she let out a sigh, finally unclenching her hands from the desk, “I’m sorry it feels irrelevant, but that’s why we need to figure out who the hell followed us to your warehouse.” 

“Hélène could be in a cell-” 

“They don- can’t have enough to arrest her. Besides, she’d be able to call me if that happened.” 

_But would she?_

Marya hated the question as soon as it popped into her head. Of course Hélène would call her. And she must know she _could_ call her. But then again, who was she kidding, Hélène didn’t even know Marya thought she was innocent. That was her own fault, some ridiculous form of pride standing in the way. 

Dolokhov still looked restless, and Marya didn’t blame him, but his sharp nod urged her forward. 

Marya held in a sigh of relief, finally turning her attention to the case file. 

“There were multiple cars, based on the number of men, but only one close enough to see. They weren’t afraid to damage the building, was it..?” She trailed off, looking up to gauge Dolokhov’s response. 

He leaned one elbow on the armrest, propping his head up with it, “Minimal, thankfully. Two shattered windows and a few bullet holes in the god-damned walls. That back door was misshapen enough to need replacing but most of the internal works were left untouched.” 

His frown deepened, “Lena hardly gave me any clue what happened. I haven’t even been able to report it, I’ve been so busy making sure we don’t get robbed in the time after.” 

Marya considered his words, before exhaling and continuing onwards, “You’ve been hiring more staff, yes? Security? Were you having trouble before with men of this nature?” 

Dolokhov’s eyebrows raised minorly, not looking surprised but merely knowingly at her. He didn’t ask how she’d gotten her information. He knew. 

“I had heard of a bit of unrest recently yes, although they certainly never bothered us until you. I was simply being careful, new shipment upcoming, and all.” His tone had shifted with the subject, adopting a more smooth and assured manner, and Marya wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. 

“And, I think it’s my turn for questions now,” He mused, eyes closing in consideration. 

“Oh?” 

“What could you possibly have been doing in my warehouse that prompted armed men to shoot at you two?” 

“Just me, as far as we’re aware,” Marya corrected, humoring the train of thought, “None of the men seemed willing to shoot at Hélène.” 

Dolokhov’s eyebrows furrowed in interest that seemed all too genuine compared to his prior decorum, “That’s... intriguing. So you in particular, actions and setting had nothing to do with this?” 

“I’d guess not. Someone must have sent them because they thought it would be an opportunity.” 

Dolokhov leaned forward in his seat, for the first time seeming present in the conversation, “Someone sent them huh? Yes, that fits, but it would have to be someone who’s angry you’ve taken the case? Upset you’re helping Lena, right?” 

“That’s as far as I’ve made it,” Marya sighed, “You’d think the distinction would help narrow it down, but there is no shortage of people who haven’t taken kindly to my decision.” 

“Ah, “ his temporary enthusiasm faded slightly before his eyebrows raised once more. 

Marya went to ask, but Dolokhov’s hand raised to stop her, clearly putting something together. 

“Consider,” He began, eyes opening to meet hers once more, “Who is someone who would benefit from your detective work being taken out of the picture, especially if, as you say, they don’t have enough to arrest Hélène?” 

Marya’s eyes closed. 

Ah. 

She knew where this was going. 

Dolokhov held a finger up to discourage her from interrupting as he continued, “Someone who wouldn’t kill Hélène because they needed her. As a scapegoat.” He looked pleased with the idea, and Marya had to admit it had some merit, but there was one issue. 

“There is no way Andrei Bolkonsky would have killed Pierre.” 

Dolokhov only faltered slightly at that, and furrowed his brow in further thought, “He could be covering for someone?” 

“His sister.” Marya mused, before shaking her head, “But she’s a timid, waifish thing. And it still doesn’t explain why he’d be taking his own investigation so seriously if that were the case.” 

“Control?” Dolokhov offered, mouth pinched in concentration. 

“I’m not saying it’s impossible,” Marya clarified, trying to remain objective to some degree, although her brain, greedy for a lead, sought to latch itself to the idea, “in fact, I will do my best to look into it, but it still leaves some things unexplained.” 

At Dolokhov’s gesture for her to continue, Marya relented. 

“Well, first of all, what about Hélène, right? Why would they still be pulling her in? If he knows it’s not her, it’s not like he can prove anything by questioning her she-” 

The harshing ringing of the phone beside her almost caused Marya to startle in her seat, already on edge with the gravity of what could be uncovered. 

With an apologetic glance back at Dolokhov and the hope that the caller would be Hélène, Marya leaned back, pulling the phone from its hook. 

“Hello, this is Marya Dmi-” She had barely begun speaking when Andrei’s voice cut across hers, trembling with restrained anger. 

_“What the hell did you do?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :0 so much plot
> 
> Been doing lots of fun comet stuff on my Instagram in case you're not following me there! Including accidentally making and drawing a whole new au based on headcanons you guys sent me lmao.  
> Anyways if you're interested in more mmc/art stuff you can find me on tumblr or insta @meetthefatess :)


	9. i wake up screaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...howdy. sorry it's been a hot minute, I definitely meant to update more. This chapter isn't super long but I still hope it's worth it?  
> I haven't quite decided how I feel about it, but be sure to let me know lol

“I- excuse me?” Marya couldn’t help but let her annoyance slip into her voice, but Andrei didn’t let her continue. 

“I’d expect this kind of thing from her, not you,” he scoffed into the receiver, and Marya felt her eyes narrow slightly as he continued, “why would you let yourself get roped into this? Is your integrity so-” 

“A bit hard to answer your torrent of accusations considering I have _no idea_ what you mean.” Marya finally cut across, voice steely, “You’d help us both if you stuck to one question and told me what the hell is going on with my client.” 

Marya’s eyes flicked up to see Dolokhov, frowning in the seat across from her, as Andrei paused momentarily. 

“Doctoring evidence Marya. That’s low and that’s desperate. Your client is here at the precinct, I suggest you join her as soon as you can.” 

The click as he hung up echoed in her ears for a moment as his words circled her head, still ringing from her lack of sleep the previous night. 

_Planting evidence? Of what?_

And Hélène had been taken in again. 

Marya’s stomach twisted at the thought, and without another moment’s consideration, she stood from her seat, pulling the coat from her chair to put over her shoulders. 

“Are you going to tell me what that was about?” Dolokhov’s voice was guarded as he too stood, seeming to sense her unease at the phone call. 

Marya paused, closing her eyes and raking her hands through her messy hair to collect herself before she dared turn to respond. 

“They took Hélène in again, I can only assume for more questioning, and somehow that has led Bolkonsky to believe _I_ ,” Marya inhaled quickly, trying to regain control of her rapidly increasing volume, “that I have tampered with evidence.” 

“He’s framing you! It’s got to be desperation-” Dolokhov started, alarm turning to determination that their pondering had been right. 

“I don’t know, we- I can’t assume that. Besides, it’s a much bigger problem if he finds a way to prove this.” Her attempts to keep her voice calm were wavering, and Marya could feel an icy shock of panic begin to grow within her as she swiftly belted the jacket around her waist and moved to the office door. 

“Where are you going?” 

“The station, I’m sorry I’ll have to cut our meeting a bit short.” Marya stood by the office door, gesturing for Dolokhov to step out so she could lock it behind him. 

“I’ll go with you.” He voiced as he stepped out onto the concrete. 

Marya let out a sigh as she pulled the door firmly closed before turning to look at the man, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” 

“To make sure she’s okay. I can drive, it’ll be faster than getting a cab.” 

Marya’s eyes darted across his face carefully in consideration before she gave in, “Fine, but don’t start flinging accusations at Bolkonsky if you see him. It’ll do more harm than good.” 

Dolokhov looked affronted by her assumption, but conceded, gesturing her to where his car had been parked along the street. 

The ride was uncomfortable, Dolokhov driving in tense silence as Marya tried to distract herself by deciding what she thought of him. She wasn’t sure if she disliked him, although he did seem a bit much and incredibly short-tempered, but she figured that wasn’t unlike herself. Besides, their interests were aligned and she didn’t have much room to question his motives when her allies were so few and far between. 

She felt the front tires hit the curb with the fervor in which he parked near the police station, and winced mildly, before briskly slipping out the door and up to the entrance. Marya could hear Dolokhov scrambling to catch up but didn’t slow, mind once again too occupied with the contents of that call. 

_Had Hélène said something? Why had they brought her in to begin with? God, was she okay?_

\- 

It was clear as soon as Marya pushed open the double doors, that she had been expected. All eyes turned her way and lingered uncomfortably, a few people breaking their stares to converse in hushed tones as Dolokhov came through the doors behind her. 

It was nothing she wasn't used to at this point, the case had become somewhat of a local scandal, but she still had to force her breathing to steady and regain her composure enough to continue walking into the large, brick building. 

She had only made it a few steps when a man rushed up, stopping her in her tracks. 

“Ms. Akhrosimova, is that correct?” 

“Marya, yes” she replied absently, eyes already looking over the man’s head for a glimpse of Hélène. He cleared his throat, calling her attention back, and nodded in Dolokhov’s direction as the other man fell into step beside her. 

“Oh I-, that’s just-” 

“Fyodor Dolokhov, “ he supplied before she could, “I’m helping conduct the investing-” 

“No he’s not,” Marya cut across pointedly, shooting a glare Dolokhov’s way, “he’s just a friend of my client’s” 

The officer looked confused, but nodded, “Well, we’ll have to have Mr. Dolokhov wait out here, but we were wondering if you wouldn’t mind answering a couple of questions. All voluntary of course, “ he chuckled, but when met by Marya’s stony glare, stopped abruptly. 

“Where is my client?” She spoke with measured words, but couldn’t help letting her impatience drip through, especially after the highly unprofessional phone call she had received from Andrei. She owed them no respect after that. 

The man faltered, “She, uh-” he cleared his throat again, looking around him quickly, “she was being questioned too last I heard-” 

“And was her questioning voluntary?” 

He swallowed, “It’s just a temporary detainment. They won’t hold her unless they find anything she-” 

Marya huffed, raking her fingers through her flyaways once more, “Well? Take me to her?” 

His brow furrowed and he stepped in front of her as she moved to continue walking, “But what about your questioning?” 

“It’s voluntary right? Take me to my client first.” Marya let her volume rise slightly, holding her eye contact without flinching. 

“I- uh. They don’t let you confer, especially if it’s a similar line of que- hey!” He sputtered to a stop as Marya pushed past. 

“Stay here.” she threw over her shoulder to a disgruntled Dolokhov as the officer followed a few steps behind her. 

“Ms. Akhrosimova!” 

“I just want to make sure she’s alright, we’re not going to confer,” Marya replied cooly as they stepped into the first hall off of the lobby. 

She stopped as they got to the first line of doors and faced the man, “Which way?” 

He frowned, opening his mouth to retort but paused and sighed at her expression. 

“Take a right up here, it’s where we’d be heading anyways.” 

Marya allowed him to take the lead, following past desks of men and women who all looked up as they went past. Marya dug her nails into her palms to help keep her face neutral. 

“She’ll be right in there, “ he gestured towards a wood-framed room covered with panes of cloudy glass. Marya could vaguely make out three figures within, blurred and dark at the edges. No voices could be heard but one of them seemed to be gesticulating wildly. 

She went for the handle of the door, but the man raised an arm to stop her. At her glare he sighed. 

“Please, just wait.” 

It was excruciating as Marya resigned to the far wall, eyes trained on the blurred figure of who she could assume was Hélène, sitting opposite the two other forms. 

She couldn’t get the sight of Hélène’s tearstained face from the night before to leave her mind. Mascara running rivulets down her cheeks. And Dolokhov’s words. Was she truly so unhappy? She had family, didn’t she? She had mentioned her brother on multiple occasions, but he still remained absent. And her father. 

The twist in her expression when she’d said his name. Marya could already feel an anger burning towards the man. But who was she to be defensive? And what about? It wasn’t as if the situation had anything to do with their current predicament. 

Marya sighed restlessly to herself, busying her hands by smoothing invisible wrinkles from her blouse front. She could feel the cuff of one of her sleeves twisted beneath her hastily thrown on jacket, and ached to fix it. Anything to quell the nerves that swelled in her throat with every god-forsaken tick of the clock above her head. 

Eventually, the tension was brought to a peak with the twist of the door-handle in front of her, but to her immense disappointment, it was Andrei who emerged, closing the door behind him. 

Their eyes met, level as their heights were nearly the same, and without breaking it, he waved for the officer beside her to leave. 

“Marya.” 

“Andrei” 

They spoke at nearly the same time, but Marya bit her tongue, forcing him to make the first move. 

“They won’t need to question you anymore, not enough evidence and I-” He paused, already sharp voice tensing slightly, “ I don’t think you would have done it.” 

“Done what?,” Marya said cooly, “Didn’t give much information what? an hour ago?” 

Andrei grimaced, but his eyes remained narrowed as he spoke again, “I’m sorry about how I handled that, I got ahead of myself-” 

“Less apologies, more information Bolkonsky.” Marya snapped, patience already worn thin. 

His eyes flashed briefly, but he straightened to speak again, “Fine, but only because the press will be having a field day with this in no time.” 

His hand went up to his forehead, rubbing his briefly closed eyes for a moment before he could continue, “There was a… drafted suicide note found in the items confiscated from the manor.” 

Whatever Marya was expecting, it wasn’t that. 

Andrei went to speak again, but Marya didn’t let him get out another word, a wave of anger sweeping over her at levels she hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the residual panic from the previous night, but she felt her nails dig into her palms as she spoke, struggling to keep herself contained. 

“You’re telling me, that you not only dragged my client from her home, championed a case that further isolated her after the death of her _husband_ , openly accused her of murder, but you didn’t even have the foresight to consider a solution that was sitting in your own damn evidence room?” Marya could feel heat climbing up her face, and was sure she looked nearly as angry as she felt. 

“Keep your voice down, “ Andrei hissed, and Marya could have slapped him, “It wasn’t there when we combed the evidence, that’s my point. It had to have been planted later.” 

“A likely fucking story.” Marya scoffed, ignoring Andrei’s pointed glances to the neighboring doors at her language, “you’re scrambling to keep your only hunch and taking it out on _her_!” Marya gestured aggressively to the interview room. Her blood felt red hot, coursing through her. This was ridiculous. He was insane. He was making a fool of the lot of them. 

“Marya!” he interrupted sharply, “it’s been tested, it’s not even his handwriting.” His volume had raised too, but it was nothing compared to the tremble of rage Marya could feel within her very bones. 

“That doesn’t excuse your bullshit, Andrei! It’s embarrassing how unprofessional every inch of this investigation has been. I was close to Pierre too, I don’t understand how you-” 

“I don’t have anything against you Marya, “ Andrei cut over her tirade, volume increasing to nearly match hers, “but you can’t tell me you’re any kind of detective if you even _think_ she might be innocent!” 

“Of course I fucking think she’s innocent, why else would I have _taken the fucking case_?!” 

Marya’s shouting was broken by the sound of the door opening again, and she barely registered Hélène walk out, followed by a man clutching a thick brown folder. Her eyes remained locked with Andrei’s, chest heaving through Hélène’s surprised, “Marya?” and the other man’s extension of the folder to Andrei. 

“Put in on my desk,” Andrei, spoke deliberately, only stepping back from Marya when the man had disappeared down the hall. 

“You. Get out.” He spoke directly to her, bitterness not so well disguised, and gesturing in the same direction. 

Marya didn’t speak, face still red, and finally turned to where Hélène stood, frozen in shock. Marya just nodded in the direction she was headed, and muttered that Dolokhov was waiting for them under her breath. 

They continued to the lobby in stony silence, Hélène making no move to speak beside her, and followed by eyes and craning necks with each desk they passed. When they reached the entrance once more, it was still oddly quiet, but Dolokhov moved immediately to embrace Hélène as Marya surveyed the audience that had turned at their arrival. 

When they realized she had noticed their looks, work resumed, but Marya’s head was left ringing with the remnants of her outburst, hands still clenched at her sides. She doubted they’d have been able to make out her words, but the message was clear. 

Marya felt uncomfortable, sweaty, and with the tinges of exhaustion she’d felt all day creating spots behind her eyes as she followed behind Dolokhov and Hélène as they exited the station. In her distracted headspace, she wondered vaguely what they were to each other before she could remind herself not to care. 

She stood for a moment, rubbing her temples and closing her eyes against the onset of her headache while on the edge of the street. It all felt too much. 

To her surprise, when she opened her eyes, she saw Hélène wave Dolokhov towards his car, before turning and walking back towards where Marya stood, arms folded across her chest against the chill of the day’s wind. 

Before Marya could speak, Hélène uncrossed her arms, and threw them around her neck, sending Marya stumbling slightly as the younger woman clung tightly to her, face buried in her shoulder. Hélène was shaking just a little, and Marya couldn’t tell if it was from the cold, but she eventually regained enough of her facilities to rest her hands, as gently as she could, around Hélène’s waist. She could smell her perfume again, feel the tickle of her dark curls against the bare skin of her neck, and Marya felt a flush creep up her face, grateful Hélène could not see her in the moment. 

“Are you okay?” Marya finally ventured softly as she watched Dolokhov over Hélène’s shoulder look at them in shock, before climbing into his car. 

“I don’t know.” Hélène managed in reply, her warm breath ghosting over Marya’s jaw. 

Marya gripped her tighter in response, finally leaning enough to let her cheek rest against Hélène’s hair. 

“Thank you.” Hélène whispered eventually, and Marya wasn’t sure what she was referring to, but ran a hand up and down Hélène’s back in a way she hoped was reassuring. 

“We’re going to be okay,” She managed. 

Hélène nodded against her chest, before drawing away slightly, hands moving to cup either side of Marya’s jaw. In her confusion at the movement and near-dizzying state at Hélène’s proximity, Marya almost didn’t see it coming, but with a quick glance to make sure no one was watching, and manicured fingers curling behind Marya’s neck, Hélène simply stood on her toes, tugged Marya closer, and kissed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll pick up right here next chapter >:))))


	10. bury me dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LISTEN IM SORRY  
> I swear I mean to update sooner, I just keep getting distracted & the rest of you are publishing some wonderful fics atm  
> But if anyone wanted a tender chapter in which Marya is a panicky mess, it's your lucky day!  
> I'm sorry it's a little short.

Hélène’s honey-sweet perfume was stronger up close. It was the first thing Marya’s brain fixated on with the soft press of Hélène’s mouth against her own. Marya was once again seized by the realization of what was happening and felt herself stiffen against her better judgment, hands releasing Hélène’s waist in surprise. 

Hélène was _kissing_ her and Christ was she warm, and soft, and- it was all over too quickly when Hélène pulled back, seeming to notice Marya’s rigidity. 

Her cheeks were colored slightly, the closest Marya had seen to true embarrassment, but her dark eyes never wavered their eye contact, “Have I completely misread this?” 

“I-” 

Marya’s head spun, ache cleared and replaced only with Hélène. The chill running down her arms from where Hélène’s hands rested, the brush of curls she could still feel on her cheeks, the brief taste of her she’d gotten- 

“Shit, I didn’t mean-” Hélène managed, hands slipping from around Marya’s neck as she took a minuscule step back, seeming more shocked than anything. Marya could feel the lack of her immediately, the cold wind helping her briefly regain her thoughts. 

“I- no, no don’t be, “ She caught Hélène’s hand without thinking, feeling her cheeks burn once she realized what she’d done. 

Hélène blinked at her, eyes calculating, before she raised her other hand to trace the flush on Marya’s cheekbone. Her hands were cool on Marya’s heated skin and she almost leaned into it, into her, when a jolt of reality shook Marya free. 

They were still outside the police station. It was still daylight where anyone could see them. She couldn’t think about this; she still had no idea what to make of the new wrench thrown in their case, had barely been given a minute to think about it for that matter, so _this_ should not be the thing she was focusing on. And Hélène was Pierre’s wife! 

_She was Pierre’s wife._

“I-” Marya froze, exhaustion that had faded to the vestiges of her mind coming back full tilt; the weight of their situation nearly slamming into the forefront. Marya pulled away again, half noting the strange look Hélène shot her way. 

“We need to talk about this.” Marya blurted out quickly, skin still flushed despite her best efforts, “can we-” 

“I’ll wave down a cab, I told Fedya he could leave,” Hélène said slowly, eyes sweeping over Marya in confusion. 

Marya barely registered, palms sweating in the brisk air, as Hélène stepped off the curb with her hand outstretched. 

This was bad. 

\- 

Marya had nearly forgotten how big the Bezukhov house was. It was almost reassuring to be able to focus on the glossy floors Hélène’s heels clicked against, and the massive, sweeping staircases that framed the entry hall as she walked in. Kept her mind at bay. 

Of course, focusing on it too long made her painfully aware of how out of place Hélène must have felt sleeping on the second-hand couch in her apartment the other night. 

And christ, she only just realized she had both kissed her client and taken her home. Had she ever had the will to conduct this professionally? 

Hélène glanced back to make sure she was coming, before leading her into the same sitting room as their first meeting. Marya looked around anxiously as Hélène sat on the pale gold chaise lounge, half expecting a maid to come bustling through, or someone to take Hélène’s coat, but it seemed they were remarkably alone. 

Hélène caught her wandering eyes as she draped her fur over the back of the sofa. 

“I sent everyone home when the police came.” She spoke warily, eyes locked on Marya’s, “I can still get you a coffee or..?” she left the statement open-ended, gesturing for Marya to sit. 

Marya’s mind grasped at the statement, “Coffee, yes.” she managed as she sat, taking the time to fix the twisted sleeve beneath her coat. 

Hélène nodded, standing once more, and brushing past Marya. Her perfume seemed to cling to the air around Marya, even after she had left the room. In fact, the whole house felt almost like a reminder of her. Sweet wine. Honeysuckle. 

Marya let her head fall resolutely into her hands, rubbing her temples. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t professional in the slightest and there was no way she could explain it away. It felt dangerous. The guilt that gathered in her chest must mean she was assuredly making a mistake. 

Marya’s eyes traced the light misting of raindrops as they faded into Hélène’s abandoned coat, listening to the movement she could hear from the kitchen that must be nearby. The light clinking of china on marble countertops and the click of the coffee maker. Marya heard a muffled, “shit,” and her mouth nearly turned up in amusement, before the utter mortification of the situation came rushing back to her. She needed to think but god if she wasn’t certain her thoughts would turn immediately to Hélène. 

The other woman returned after a few minutes, two cups in hand, and Marya tried desperately to look composed as Hélène sat beside her this time, pushing the mug directly into her hands. She nearly felt a rush of deja vu to the similar setting in her own home, but smothered it away, setting her cup down too hard and causing a dark splash of the drink to alight upon the wooden coffee table. Marya opened her mouth to apologize, but Hélène spoke first, not even seeming to notice the slip. 

“Marya…” She reached to touch Marya’s arm, but seemed to think better of it-- perhaps a good thing considering the state Marya was in-- “ If… _this_ means you won’t keep the case we can pretend it never happened.” 

Marya gathered the courage to meet her dark eyes once more, swallowing hard. Hélène kept her face stony, but Marya found herself far too acquainted with the woman’s expressions not to notice the flicker of panic in her words. She looked down at her hands for a moment, before summoning the momentum to speak. 

“Of course I’m keeping the case, I just-” 

Why was this so hard? 

“I’m being very unprofessional.” She finally finished, bringing the coffee cup to her lips, eyes turning to the ring of moisture it had left on the dark table rather than to Hélène. 

Hélène didn’t respond at first, but leaned to rest her hand on Marya’s wrist lightly. The touch was welcome, but disarming as Marya felt a burn climb up her arm and further flush her skin. 

“Is that the only thing that’s bothering you? Because I don’t think that’s a big enough reason to-” 

“Hélène.” Marya managed to cut across, stomaching the tremor she felt in her throat and the coffee doing little to reign in the building migraine she had been feeling for days now, “I’m not even sure what kind of case they’re going to be making at the station now, but Andrei is angry and I feel like every lead we’ve found has been simultaneously stifled in the next step we aim to take. Not to mention, if Andrei sees us,” 

Marya gestured with her free hand. 

“ _this_ , he could use it to completely discredit our case! We already know he’s behaving incredibly partially, but now he could make that argument about me and Christ knows who the press will believe.” Marya’s volume had swelled and she only stopped, with a hiss of annoyance, as a drop of hot coffee fell onto her knee with the gesturing of her hands. 

Hélène quickly moved to pull the cup from Marya’s hands, placing it out of her reach, “On second thought, “ she turned back to Marya, taking one of her hands, “maybe coffee isn't the best idea, “ Her eyes were serious, but crinkled slightly with concern. 

“Sweetheart, when’s the last time you slept?” Hélène spoke softly, reaching with both hands to smooth the flyaways from Marya’s forehead. 

The action was soothing, if not shocking, and Marya’s response came out considerably more hushed. 

“I-” she paused again, “I just don’t want you to go to jail.” 

Hélène’s eyes softened. 

“Believe it or not, we share that wish.” she teased gently, but continued to smooth the curls she had tucked behind Marya’s ears, fingers cool against her cheeks. 

“I feel like this will just make things worse,” Marya voiced honestly, but made no move to pull away, feeling herself lean into the action, “and that even humoring the idea is just asking to make everything a good deal more complicated.” 

Hélène hummed softly in consideration, her hands traveling to Marya’s collar, which she fiddled with, watching Marya through her lashes. Marya swallowed, managing to suppress the shiver in her spine. 

“And Pierre.” 

Hélène stiffened slightly, hands pausing, before slipping from Marya to retrieve her own coffee cup, taking a deep drink from it. 

“Marya,” she said finally, “do you want to kiss me?” 

Marya flushed immediately, stumbling for words. Did she? After all she had said, how on earth was she supposed to respond? It wasn’t that simple, couldn’t be, because now her answer could mean a thousand different things for the outcome of their case. 

Thankfully Hélène didn’t push, just sighing and turning back to rest her hands on Marya’s upper arms to look her in the eyes. 

“You’re so tense," she murmured before meeting Marya's eyes, "you need to let yourself be tired, sweetheart,” Hélène rubbed her thumbs over the fabric of Marya’s shirt, causing goosebumps to form down her, thankfully covered, arms. 

“and, I’m not Pierre’s property. Not now, and certainly not then,” she finished more pointedly, and Marya felt a rush of embarrassment color her ears. 

“I didn’t mean-” 

“I know.” Hélène cut her off, but the drop of her eyes and resignation in her voice pained Marya to see. It seemed she had expected the response. 

“I just don’t want…” Marya paused, struggling to fill the blank. To be a fling? Another Kuragin plaything? Or perhaps to mess up everything she had been trying so hard to accomplish? It couldn’t be simple, even outside of their current circumstances she couldn’t see any part of this being simple. But still, despite her best efforts, Marya could feel what little was left of her resolve wavering. 

“To hurt anyone.” 

Hélène frowned, “I don’t exactly get hurt, darling.” 

“Anything,” Marya corrected, “anything about this situation, or even between… us.” 

Her throat was painfully dry when she tried to swallow. It was a wonder she was able to get any words out at all. Her eyes caught the delicate string of pearls grazing the hollow of Hélène’s neck, the dark dress that clung to her, and had to be dragged away for Marya to regain some kind of sense as Hélène considered her words. 

“I think I care about you Marya,” Hélène started, eyes holding Marya in place, “and I think we can be careful.” 

“This isn’t the kind of thing I do, this isn’t-” 

_Safe._ The retort was quick from Marya’s lips, but she couldn’t help but feel like she was going through the motions of the argument. Like Hélène knew exactly what the outcome of this was going to be and Marya was merely playing into her hand. 

“Does it have to be?” 

Marya nearly startled as Hélène’s knee, clad in silk, leaned against hers. She could feel Hélène’s hands return to the button of her collar, tracing it with neatly manicured fingers Marya could feel occasionally brush the flushed skin of her neck. 

“Marya, do you want to kiss me?” Hélène asked again, much closer, and Marya swallowed. Marya had always known what she wanted, but the reality of it made it difficult to breathe. 

“Yes.” 

Hélène’s smile quirked and slowly she moved forward, into Marya’s space, a knee on either side of Marya’s waist and hands moving to curl beneath Marya’s jaw. Marya felt her breath hitch in her chest at the closeness of the other woman, and could feel the shake in her fingers as they moved instinctively to rest on the small of her back. 

“Then do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There isn't much plot but as a wlw, I think I can do what I want??  
> lmk how we're feeling!


	11. deadline at dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, two chapters in one month ;)  
> Barely, but it counts. We're back into plot eventually but I tried to let them be cute.  
> Also if you want to see stupid behind the scenes stuff between me & my beta reader + all the times I decided to draw what I imagine for costuming instead of actually working on the fic, I do have a blog specifically for this fic now! People who came here from my tumblr know & threaten me into updating, but if you didn't it's @murdermachere on tumblr :)

Marya truly hadn’t intended for this to happen: to entangle herself so fully in the situation, to grow so attached. 

In spite of her intentions, she knew deep down she’d be lying if she said she had missed the signs. In fact, Marya had been solitary long enough that in her current situation, the events leading up seemed so glaringly obvious she was unsure how she had convinced herself they weren’t there. Hadn’t she initially been drawn in by the case? Hadn’t guilt immediately struck her? Hadn’t she been pushing away any explicit feelings and letting it all build up in the back of her mind, just waiting to slip through? 

It could have been fear, stubbornness, or the racing of thoughts that plagued her every day that caused her initial denial, but at the moment, lying in the silk sheets of one of the many bedrooms of the Bezukhov manor, Marya didn’t feel nearly as frightened as she had expected. 

Of course, there were little things: the slight tremor in her fingertips where they had come to curl around a sleeping Hélène’s waist, the fact that she was awake when the sun was only beginning to rise, a sharp orange line in the window of the room’s far wall, but altogether, Marya felt...relaxed. 

It was strange. 

This wasn’t something she did. Marya was a sensible woman, always had been, so this was- 

New. 

If any previous press could be trusted, Marya knew this was something Hélène did do, and vaguely wondered if that was why she was awake so early. To check that her fears were unfounded, that Hélène wouldn’t slip away as soon as she closed her eyes. 

Maybe that wasn’t fair to think, and Marya tried not to, but it lingered in her subconscious. 

_What if._

For the moment though, Hélène hadn’t stirred, an arm thrown lazily over Marya’s abdomen and duvet pulled nearly up to her neck. 

Maybe it was the sound of Marya’s thoughts that woke her, or the shifting the redhead had tried to keep to a minimum, but eventually in the midst of Marya’s musing, Hélène let out a soft hum, eyes scrunching then lashes fluttering open as she drew her arm away from Marya to prop herself up on her elbows. 

Marya watched as she rubbed her face, brow furrowing in tired confusion before her eyes landed on Marya. 

“Christ, what time is it?” was all Hélène managed, voice thick as she rolled to squint at the small metal clock at the bedside. 

Marya’s stomach dropped as she turned onto one side to watch. Was that a hint that she should go? Was she supposed to have caught on already? 

“Do you want me to leave?” she asked before she could talk herself out of it. Ripping off a bandaid. 

Hélène turned back to take in Marya’s expression with her brows still lowered in confusion, sleepily putting the pieces together. 

“Do you want to leave?” 

“I-” Marya paused, the littlest bit of relief creeping in at the other woman’s response, “no.” 

Hélène’s expression turned a little more gentle, a little more awake, seeming to understand Marya’s train of thought. She slid back under the duvet at that, and moved to rest her head on Marya’s chest, throwing a leg across hers as she settled, muttering, “well good, you're the only warm thing in this god-damned house.” 

Marya let out a faint exhale of amusement at her words, and allowed herself to relax back into the abundance of pillows. It was additionally strange how much comfort she could find in Hélène’s teasing words. It wasn’t something she was used to. 

Hélène was quiet for a moment, but Marya could tell she was still awake, pliant with sleep but eyes open, facing that same orange line of sun Marya had noticed. 

“Did you yell at Andrei for me?” 

Marya paused. 

“You heard that?” 

“To be fair, I think the whole block heard it, darling, “ Hélène mused, shifting to stretch slightly before resting back against Marya. 

“I- I suppose I did. Among other reasons.” Marya finally responded, eyes turning to the eggshell white ceiling, “I’d considered he’d done it.” 

Hélène’s eyes flicked up to hers, waiting for her to continue. Marya obliged after a beat, regaining some bearing in the train of thought she’d started the other day. 

“The defensiveness, the insistence it was you. After yesterday though-” Marya had to pause again. What _could_ she glean from the other day? A planted suicide note? Andrei’s initial argument that it had been them? Christ, she still wasn’t sure what she should be looking at first. 

“What did they question you about?” Marya managed, turning her head slightly to watch Hélène. 

The other woman paused, closing her eyes for a moment before speaking. 

“Grilling me about the note mostly. I was worried it was too late, to be honest, and started insisting I call a lawyer. Figured Vassily would give me a contact if he thought it’d keep me from shaming the family.” 

Her accompanying laugh was sharp, without amusement, and Marya instinctively tightened the hand on her waist. 

“But they… decided not to detain you?” Marya asked, brow furrowing in spite of herself. 

“Ah, yes. They finally were able to pull some handwriting samples, my marriage certificate and all. No match on my end.” Hélène shrugged against her, evidently trying to appear at ease although it was clear she wasn’t. Marya didn’t quite know how she could tell, but when Hélène’s grip on her shoulder tightened fractionally, she just ran her fingers down the curve of the other woman’s spine gently. 

“I suppose this is easier than having to schedule a meeting with you,” Marya breathed, half to herself, in an attempt to ease the weight that seemed to have settled on them with the conversation. 

It worked marginally, Hélène’s shoulders shaking with gentle laughter as she propped herself back on her forearms to look at Marya more squarely. 

“Marya Dmitrievna, I don't think I’ve heard you make a joke before,” her mouth opened in mock surprise, “next you’ll tell me you kiss all your clients.” 

Marya flushed in spite of herself, grasping for an adequate rebuttal but failing to find one, which only made Hélène’s smile widen. 

It was still sharp at the edges, a little cold, but at this point, Marya couldn’t help but wonder if that was just how she’d learned. Her eyes were playful, but smile always careful. 

If Hélène noticed her scrutiny, she didn’t say anything, simply leaning forward to kiss Marya quickly, warm and far too brief, before sliding from the bed to approach the room’s massive wooden wardrobe. 

“Well if meeting with me is off the table, how’re you looking to spend the day, detective?” she tossed over her shoulder, pulling out a hanger holding an olive silk robe and scanning it for a second, before pulling it over her bare shoulders. She turned back as she was tying it, winking at Marya’s bemused expression. 

“I have a few ideas, I-” Marya paused, sitting up fully and running a hand through her tangled hair. She’d had time to consider it somewhat, but she still wasn’t quite sure where she wanted to start. 

“I think I want to talk to Mary Bolkonskaya.” She finished finally, looking up from her lap as Hélène came back to sit on the edge of the bed. 

“Oh?” 

The other woman’s expression was confused if not placating as Marya rubbed her temples. 

“Yes. I think- well even if we can assume he didn’t have anything to do with it, she could at least give a little insight into where the _hell_ he’s planning to go with this now.” 

“And you think she’ll know?” Hélène humored gently, reaching to rest a hand on Marya’s wrist. 

“I couldn’t say,” Marya exhaled sharply in exasperation, eyes blinking shut. 

Before she could open them, she felt Hélène’s hand light on her jaw, tilting her chin down slightly until she was kissing her once more. Marya could feel herself leaning into it, hand raising blindly to rest on Hélène’s silk-clad forearm to balance herself. Every time she kissed Hélène, Marya lamented any time not spent doing so. She could feel every beat of her own heart against her chest, her next words sent spinning out of her reach while all she could feel was Hélène. 

Hélène pulled away after a moment, lips curling up on one side, “You’re stressing yourself out again.” 

Marya let a slightly out of breath laugh escape her lips, hand still braced on Hélène’s arm, “I know.” 

“I doubt she’ll be comfortable seeing me,” Hélène continued, “think you could tell me what you find as soon as you can? You could always come back tonight.” 

The offer was unspoken and hung in the air between them, Hélène watching almost curiously to see how she would receive it. 

“I think so I-” It would certainly take a little explaining to placate her goddaughters on why she had been gone two nights in a row and- 

“Shit.” Marya, stiffened, shoving the sheets off of herself and moving quickly from the bed. She snatched the rest of her clothing from the floor, struggling to pull her blouse sleeves roughly over her arms. 

“What is it?” Hélène’s voice was slightly alarmed. 

“I never told them I wouldn't be home last night and I need to make sure Sonya can invite Mary over for dinner and-” Marya paused her frantic buttoning of the shirt over her legs to sigh in exasperation as she watched Hélène try to stifle her laughter at Marya’s near manic actions. 

“Can I just use your phone?” 

\- 

Natasha and Sonya seemed to buy that Marya had accidentally fallen asleep in her office, likely due to the event occurring more than once before, particularly frequently when Marya was working on a rather trying case. 

Sonya had said she’d invite Mary, so for the moment, all Marya could do was wait, pouring over her thickening, but somehow no less convoluted, case file as she waited for the girls to return from work, hopefully bringing the other girl with them. 

A significant part of Marya wished she had thought to invite Hélène to wait with her, speak about the case a bit more, but knew that it was foolish and altogether for her own comfort. Marya was supposed to be subtle about this, not probing. If Mary saw Hélène at all, any illusion of causality would be gone and, based on what she’d noticed about Mary, any such breach or lapse of judgment would certainly startle her into silence. In public, she was certainly as skittish as they came. 

When the clock was an hour from six, Marya busied herself with the dinner: setting the table, compulsively straightening and re-straightening every napkin, dish, and fork in her uneasiness. It was a ridiculous thing to worry about, worst case scenario she would be left with exactly the same information she had before, but the increasing tension from Andrei’s end of the case made Marya more and more worried for Hélène’s safety. She needed a break in the case and as soon as she could get it. 

Marya waited in the kitchen when the time came, fighting the urge to light another cigarette as she heard the front door open and the tittering of voices reached her ears. 

“Marya!” Natasha called almost immediately, before moving towards the table and into Marya’s vision as she moved to greet them. 

“Oh Masha, everything looks so lovely!” Natasha beamed, embracing her quickly, getting Marya’s front slightly damp from the rain they had evidently walked in. 

“Thank y-” 

“Oh wait, “ Marya was cut off by Natasha’s excitement once more, “Marya, this is Mary, she works in Sonya’s department!” 

Natasha gestured excitedly to the door where Sonya was hanging up the coat of a slender girl with braided light brown hair who already looked startled by the brisk introduction. Marya recognized her from the funeral and raised a hand in greeting. 

“Pleasure to finally meet you, Mary, I've heard good things“ Marya humored, meeting the girl’s tentative smile before motioning for Natasha to go take her shoes and coat off by the door. 

“Food is done if you’re ready,” Marya continued, taking her seat. She couldn’t help but twist her hands underneath the table but was able to maintain her rigid posture otherwise as the girls filtered in. 

“How was work?” Marya pushed lightly as they began to eat, hoping that setting off one of Natasha’s gleeful tirades would help put Mary at ease. Natasha was good at things like that, even if she didn’t realize it. 

It seemed to work, for a few minutes into Natasha’s long-winded story about a girl who was nearly fired after dropping a whole tray of scalding hot coffees, Mary began to chime in quietly about her own experience in the same job a few years prior. It was Sonya, however, who inadvertently allowed Marya to begin pushing. 

“You’re lucky you called when you did, Marya,” Sonya smiled, “Mary’s promoted so fast I hardly get to see her except when she comes early for lunch break” 

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay much longer than dinner though, “ Mary flushed in embarrassment at the compliment, “Andrei won’t like that I’m here.” She glanced apologetically at Marya before looking back down at her plate. 

“How is he?” Marya posed the question innocently, but Sonya’s smile faltered, gaze immediately suspicious. Marya supposed she’d have to apologize for this later. 

“Not great, he-” Mary paused, “well I’m sure you’ve noticed he hasn’t been taking it well.” 

When Marya nodded, Mary scrambled to continue. 

“I hope you don’t think too poorly of him though, He’s had a lot of pressure to close this case.” 

“Oh?” 

Sonya’s glare was entirely accusatory at this point, clearing her throat pointedly, but Marya ignored it. 

“Well my father has done a lot for the department in past years, so it doesn’t look too good on the family if Andrei can’t close something with such an obvious suspect-” 

Marya’s fork screeched against her plate at that, and she paused a moment to stomach the flare of anger that caused her grip to tighten. 

When she looked back up, forcing a smile, Mary was watching her carefully, returning the expression uneasily. 

“Well that does sound tough,” Sonya spoke, a little too loudly, shooting Marya yet another warning glance and evidently trying to change the subject. 

“I’m not saying she’s a bad person.” Mary ventured gently, strangely ignoring Sonya’s attempt at safer waters, “It’s more her family that worries me. They have a history of coverups decades-long and,” Mary winced, “while that brother of hers, the older one, certainly does that reputation no favors.” 

Marya’s brows furrowed slightly as she set her fork down at the edge of her plate. 

“Anatole?” 

Mary nodded, taking a drink from her water. It was almost silent in the dining room, Sonya watching Marya carefully, hands tense against the table cloth, and Natasha with her head tilted curiously. 

“Course maybe it’s all hearsay, I do hear a bit from all directions when it comes from my family,” Mary laughed a bit self-deprecatingly. 

Marya’s thoughts coalesced slowly as she bit the inside of her lip, folding her hands underneath her chin to make eye contact with Mary. She wasn’t entirely sure, but if the direction her mind was going had any merit knew it was certainly worth a shot. 

“No, tell me about Anatole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mary finally comes to dinner after nine chapters lmaooo  
> Also, ty for all the comments last chapter! Even if I didn't respond to them all, know they made my day. Also! my google doc for this is finally at 70 pages and I just think that's a little sexy.  
> lmk how we feel!


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